


the end of love

by andnowforyaya



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Falling In Love, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Pre-Poly, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 63,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: It’s summer in the city. Ten meets Johnny and tries not to fall in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _I've always been in love with you_  
>  _Could you tell it from the moment that I met you?_  
>  -the end of love, florence + the machine

"Hi," he says, holding out his hand to shake. The boy across from him who opened the door is tall, all broad shoulders and long limbs, his mouth shaped like a peach, his chin pointed, his dark hair falling forward in front of his eyes. He’s wearing a red t-shirt and joggers and he’s absolutely beautiful. It isn't fair. "I'm Ten."

"Johnny," the boy says, looking Ten up and down. His eyes skim over the timer band wrapped around Ten's wrist, read the numbers flashing 00:00:00, and Ten swallows the stone of nerves that has formed in his mouth, feels it tumble down into the pit of his stomach, but all Johnny says is, "I took the bed on the right already, but I haven't unpacked or anything, so if you want to switch, let me know."

Johnny doesn’t say, _zero’d out already?_

And he doesn’t say, _so did you find them?_

And he doesn’t say, _you’re so lucky._

For that, Ten is grateful.

“Any bed is good,” Ten says. “Thanks.” He feels a smile worm its way up to his lips; though he tries to hold it back, to keep it hidden and safe, it still bursts through like the buds of a flower unfurling its first soft, dewy petals in the early days of spring.

.

Johnny is here for the summer for an internship at Deloitte, a big consulting firm in the city that does things for its interns like pay for summer housing and rent out booze cruise ships for an evening to coast up and down the Hudson, unlimited open bar provided. At the end of their first week together in the summer dorms at NYU -- the university’s students empty out from the campus for the summer, leaving whole buildings unoccupied, and the college can’t _not_ take the opportunity to rake in more money -- Johnny comes home absolutely hammered, his huge form draped over someone who is struggling under his dead weight.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing this stranger says, hoisting Johnny up to rest against his hip like some giant baby. “He insisted on coming back to his room.”

“It’s not even 10,” Ten says. He’s still sweaty after coming back from rehearsal, his body aching after five straight days of non-stop physicality as he learns the choreography for the culminating performance his program will be putting on at the end of the summer at the Lincoln Center. He’d come back to the dorms straight away after practice every day this week, still jet-lagged after spending nearly 20 hours trapped in the plane from Bangkok, just wanting to shower in the tiny bathroom the size of a closet that he and Johnny share and collapse into bed to blackout before waking up in the morning to do it all over again. It’s a brutal schedule, but also thrilling, his heart constantly beating in his ears and distracting him from almost anything else. He breathes to dance.

His tank clings to him and he peeled off his leggings as soon as he got back into his room in favor of throwing on a pair of gym shorts instead. There’s no air conditioning in the rooms of the dorm, just a big overhead ceiling fan above the two beds and shared dresser, so the stale, dead air inside just circulates within the walls of the room, even when the windows are open, and it never really cools down. The stranger glances down at Ten’s exposed knees, his thighs, and his cheeks turn a lovely shade of pale pink.

“We started at 5…” Johnny’s friend explains, regret in his tone. “The company scheduled the boat to leave then, so it’s not like we really had a choice.”

Ten grins, opening the door wider. The air is cooler for some reason in the hallway, and he shivers at the difference. “Yeah, Deloitte forced you to go out and drink yourself silly.”

“I’m Doyoung, by the way,” the stranger says. Doyoung has a face like a fox, with hooded eyes that look permanently lined with winged-tips. He flashes a smile and it’s all teeth. When he reaches his hand out to shake Ten’s, Johnny begins the precarious slip from his hip to the floor, so he quickly retracts it and catches him under his armpit, grunting as he hauls him up again. “Sorry -- I’m in the NYU dorms, too. There’s a whole group of us that Deloitte put in here.”

“Good for you.”

“And you?”

“I’m not with Deloitte,” Ten quips. When he’d gotten the email congratulating him on his acceptance into a summer dance program in New York City, it had taken some convincing for his parents to let him come. He’d begged his parents to sponsor at least half of the cost if Ten could find a way to cover the other half. He worked his butt off at a little studio on the weekends and for a scholarship and barely made it.   
  
Doyoung’s eyes widen. “No, dude. I meant your name.”

Ten blinks. “Oh. It’s Ten.”

“Okay, great,” Doyoung says, finally shoving his way past Ten and the doorframe, huffing and puffing with Johnny’s weight and slow, uncoordinated steps. Johnny groans. Ten would move to help him, but.

Doyoung continues, “That’s what he told me, too, so I’m just going to deposit him here and then I’ll be off!”

He drops Johnny and the man falls in a heap onto Ten’s bed, and Johnny immediately proceeds to roll over and bury himself in the blankets, cocooning himself even though it’s hotter than an oven in hell in here. He rubs his face into Ten’s pillow. He's still wearing the nice (now wrinkled) button up shirt he wore this morning to work, opened down to mid-pec.

Ten protests, “No, that’s—!”

“Bye, it was nice to meet you! A couple of us are still going out to a bar nearby, so good luck with him!”

Doyoung flashes him that toothful smile again, blinding Ten so that he can make his escape and dash out the door and down the hall, leaving Johnny in Ten’s bed.

“Nice to meet you,” Ten mumbles to the empty doorway, as behind him, Johnny begins to snore, drooling on Ten's pillow and dead to the world.

.


	2. Chapter 2

Ten wakes up face down and sweating into Johnny’s sheets. The ceiling fan is going full power but the summer is relentless and unforgiving, and heat seeps into every cell in Ten’s body.

Johnny’s bed smells like him. It smells like cloves and citrus and musk, well-rounded and full-bodied and Ten rolls over onto his back for reprieve from the headiness of it all, to calm the stirring in his lower belly. Johnny smells _good_.

He looks over at his roommate. It’s barely mid-morning but the sun is already high in the sky, golden sunbeams spearing through the blinds and painting light across Johnny’s skin. Even from across the room, Ten can see that Johnny’s hairline is damp with sweat.

“Hey,” he tries, because it’s so hot he thinks he’s going to lose his mind. He thought Bangkok was hot, but at least his family has a big house with central air there. Here, the dorms are cinder blocks and might as well double as kilns.

Johnny mumbles something and rolls over onto his back, too, pushing at the sheets as he does so until all the covers and sheets are in a pile at the foot of the bed. His shirt has ridden up, and he scratches at his exposed belly. Sometime during the night he must have taken off his pants, because Ten is met with the bright blue of Johnny’s briefs, the curved outline of his dick. “What?” Johnny asks, voice scratchy, husky. He slits one eye open at Ten before closing it again with a wince after accidentally looking directly into a sunbeam. "Shit."

“It’s hot,” Ten says.

“Yeah, fuck yeah.”

“We’re going to buy a box fan today,” Ten says, because A/C units are banned in the dorms. He should have taken up his mother’s offer to rent him an apartment for the summer, but no, he had to be stubborn and ‘self sufficient’ and now he’s suffering for it.

“I’m so hungover,” Johnny moans, slowly bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing life back into his cheeks. “And sticky. And -- this is your bed.”

“You noticed.”

“Fuck, how’d I get back?”

“Your cute friend brought you,” Ten says.

Johnny stops rubbing his face and takes in his surroundings, pushing at the sheets again. “Did you take my pants off?”

Ten giggles, rolling onto his side and propping himself up onto one elbow. He says, “Yeah, things got a little weird last night…”

Johnny’s eyes widen. He tries to sit up, too, though it’s a slow, painful process. Finally he manages to prop himself up against the wall, looking at Ten with pinched lips and a remorseful shine in his eyes. “We didn’t -- I didn’t do anything untoward to you, did I?”

“Well…” Ten says, ducking his chin to his chest in a show of bashfulness. He bites at his bottom lip and looks up at Johnny from under his lashes, and Johnny’s cheeks flare red like emergency lights. Ten holds the ruse for a moment longer before a laugh cracks out of his chest. “I’m kidding,” Ten says. “Gosh, the look on your face.”

“Not funny,” Johnny says grumpily, crossing his arms.

“A little funny,” Ten says. He flops himself back down onto the bed. “ _Untoward_ … But seriously. Nothing happened. You drooled all over my pillow, I couldn’t move you, so I gave up… and then you took your pants off all by yourself sometime last night. I don’t know, I was asleep.”

“I’m so hungover,” Johnny repeats. “Did you say we’re going to buy a box fan?”

“Yep,” Ten says, popping the p at the end.

“Just give me, like, another day to recover.”

Ten laughs again, almost quietly and to himself, and Johnny looks at him, purple shadows under his eyes, a smile slowly forming on his lips.

.

It’s early afternoon by the time Johnny has showered and whipped himself into some sort of presentable state — though the dark circles under his eyes and his wild mess of hair on top of his head can’t seem to be helped — and it’s so hot by then that it’s almost better to get outside and bake on the overcrowded sidewalks than to roast until well-done inside their small, squarish room.

“So where will we be getting our box fan?” Johnny asks, pulling out sunglasses with blue frames from the pocket of his shorts and sliding them onto his face as they exit the dorms and immediately hit a wall of sunlight.

Johnny’s tank has a little pocket with an illustration of a dog hanging out inside of it over the right side of his chest. The dog is wearing matching sunglasses. So cute. The hard lines and definition of the muscles of Johnny's arms? Not cute. Bordering on sexy. Ten tries not to stare.

Ten’s wiry and lean, body sculpted from years of dancing. His purple tank hugs him close, and his denim shorts cling to him like a second skin. He adjusts his backpack and says, “Google tells me there’s a Target in Herald Square.”

“Excellent,” Johnny says, licking his cracked lips.

Ten shifts his backpack to his front and unzips the smaller pocket, pulling out a chapstick. He hands it over to Johnny, who stares at the offering from behind dark lenses. The taller boy raises his eyebrow, and Ten raises his in response. “What? I’m not sick.” He floats the chaptstick toward him again.

“It’s just — it’s your chapstick.”

“Your lips are as dry as the Sahara. It pains me. Please, for the sake of everyone who has to look at you, put some on.”

Johnny’s peach of a mouth curls up at the corners. For some reason, it reminds Ten of lions licking their lips as they laze about under the sun. Johnny takes the chapstick from Ten’s hand, and sunlight glances off the timer on his wrist. 

Ten doesn’t mean to look. He never means to. There’s never any point in Ten looking, anyway. He zero’d out before his timer was ever put on him at the tender age of 100 days, so either he met his soulmate before he was 100 days old or he never had one to begin with. He’s not sure which is worse — thinking he still has a soulmate out there and holding out hope, or coming to terms with the idea that he never had one, never deserved one. Johnny’s timer is still running down the numbers. Ten doesn’t manage to see exactly what the numbers are, but the reminder that they exist is enough.

Johnny’s still waiting to meet his soulmate, and it’s not Ten.

“Thanks,” Johnny says, smearing some chapstick on. He smacks them exaggeratedly and gives the tube back to Ten. “How’s it look now?” he asks with lips puckered. He presses himself closer to Ten, his face coming dangerously close.

Ten shouts in surprise and puts his hands up, pushing at Johnny, but all this does is make him press closer, his body warm and solid, his arm coming up to wrap around Ten’s shoulders. “You’re ridiculous! Get off!”

“How’s it look?” Johnny insists, lips still puckered. He starts making sucking noises.

“Fine!” Ten laughs, pushing at Johnny’s face now. His fingers catch the taller boy's sunglasses and the frame digs into the bridge of Johnny’s nose.

“Ow!” Johnny lets up, wrinkling his nose and adjusting the glasses. When he disentangles himself from Ten, his absence feels strange. “I’m still hungover, you know. My face is pounding.”

“Not my fault.”

“I know, just be gentle with me.”

“That’s what she said,” Ten says.

“Nah,” Johnny says. “Don’t really like gentle myself.”

Ten’s cheeks flare and he sputters, laughing. “Okay, I don’t know anything about you other than your favorite color and that you’re from Chicago. Glad we can cover sexual preferences so early on in our relationship.”

“I like to be upfront about it, you know?” Johnny quips as they finally start to walk the couple blocks to the subway on 8th street. They pass a bodega with its doors open and feel a blast of cool air from the air conditioning inside, sighing simultaneously at the short relief it offers. “It’s never helped me to be coy or secretive about that stuff.”

“Yeah? But then where’s the thrill of discovery? Hm?" Ten questions. "What about that whole phase where you’re discovering each other and what you like and how you work together? If you spill everything upfront, there’s no _mystery_.”

“Well, you got me. I'm more experienced with them one-night-stands. Expediency is key for those. But yeah, maybe we could get through the mystery in one night provided both parties are willing and efficient, I think.”

“Didn’t realize you were so…”

“Promiscuous? Slutty? You can say it.”

It’s Ten’s turn to wrinkle his nose. “Voracious,” Ten says.

Johnny laughs. “What can I say? I love love.”

“Is that love?”

"A form of it. A version. My version.”

They reach the mouth of the subway entrance, before the stairs descend to the platform, and pause, turning to each other at the same time like a hidden signal shared between them. Down the stairs, Ten hears a train screeching into the station and coming to a stop. Hears the chiming of the bell signifying that the doors are opening and closing.

“Why didn’t we do this earlier?" Johnny asks. "Go shopping. Get to know each other? It’s been a week and I think this is our first real conversation?”

Ten shrugs. They descend the stairs slowly together. His heart is kind of beating strangely in his chest, sweat gathering at his temples. It’s even hotter down in the belly of the subway station, sauna-like, and he’s finding it difficult to breathe. “We were both busy, I guess. And I was jet-lagged. Very jet-lagged.”

“Well, we should talk more. I like it.” Johnny says it so guilelessly and earnestly that Ten has to grin and chuckle.

“Yeah, you’re okay, I guess. You’ll definitely be useful later for carrying the fan…”

Johnny brings his sunglasses up over his brows, letting them rest above the crown of his head. The frames push his hair back so that the strands fall to frame his face. His eyes are bright, brighter than Ten’s ever seen them, and he grins. “I’m starting to understand you. Voracious means slutty. Okay means awesome…”

Ten laughs as the next train rumbles into the station, grinding against the tracks and drowning out all other sound.

.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, within ten minutes of being inside Target, Johnny and Ten have a shopping cart full of snacks, underwear, paper towels, instant noodles, and candles.

“We’ve found everything but the fan,” Johnny says, looking at their haul.

“Shut up, we _need_ all these things.”

They turn down another household goods aisle, this one full of pots and pans and other kitchen tools.

“Yes, you definitely need this hipster-scented candle, which smells like…” Johnny picks up the glass jar with the candle inside and squints at the label. “...flannel and cold brew.” He throws it back into the cart and thankfully it bounces against the dozen-pack of paper towel rolls before settling at the bottom of the cart. “What is that even?”

“Just because you can’t appreciate living an elevated lifestyle doesn’t mean we all have to live in squalor, John.”

Johnny laughs, leaning against the handle of the red cart with his forearms as they stroll slowly down the aisle. Ten walks beside him, hand resting over the edge of the basket to guide them when needed.

“Some people have taste,” Ten huffs.

“Some people,” Johnny says. “You're probably not one of them.”

“You’re so rude, and I’m so over this relationship. I’m kicking you out of our room when we get back. I’m sure you can find a Deloitte buddy to — ah, watercolors! Pencils!”

Ten lets go of the cart and rushes into the aisle that looks like it’s been overtaken by rainbows. On either side, small tubes of acrylic paints and markers and colored pencils are organized into colorful gradients. Different sized canvases and drawing notebooks line the bottom shelves. Ten takes out a blank canvas at random and holds it up to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“You draw? You really like smelling stuff, don’t you?”

“Look at this,” Ten says, turning the blank canvas to Johnny and shaking it in front of his chest, sweeping his hand over the white space. “Nothing but potential.”

Johnny grins and shakes his head. His hair falls in front of his eyes, and he pushes it back with his fingers. “Says a true artist. I thought you danced.”

“Doing one doesn’t mean I can’t do the other, too.”

“A man of many talents.”

“And you?” Ten asks casually, attention now turned to the different pencils filling up the display cases. He couldn’t bring any of his art supplies with him from Thailand, so he’s happy he stumbled across this aisle. “What do you do?”

“Hm,” Johnny says, pretending to think about it and stroking his non-existent beard. He pushes the cart along slowly, following Ten. “Get things from high shelves, mostly.”

Ten rolls his eyes at Johnny’s mischievous grin when the taller boy sidles up beside him and runs his hand over some of the pencils and markers on display. He has to tilt his chin to at him in order to make eye contact when he says, “You’re so unfunny.”

“I play piano,” Johnny says, picking out a true cerulean blue colored pencil and putting it into the growing collection of colors in Ten’s hand. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just get a box?”

“But then when I’m coloring in a landscape I won’t be able to look at my collection of pencils in disappointment and think, man, should have picked up green. And I'll have to make an artistic choice and color all the grass blue, or red, or purple.”

“You’re pretty strange,” Johnny observes.

Ten says, “You are, too.” He can’t seem to stop smiling. When Johnny smiles, it reaches his eyes, and they glitter like jewels. “How long have you played piano? Are you any good?”

“Decent.” He picks up a green pencil and puts it in Ten’s hand. “For your landscape.”

“Thanks.” Ten can feel his ears turning pink at the tips, the heat furling over him like a sunburn. He bends over to pick up a drawing pad filled with a dozen sheets of nice paper so he doesn’t have to look at Johnny and Johnny doesn’t have to look at him. But when he straightens, he notices Johnny averting his eyes to look at the ceiling. Ten purses his lips, cants his hip to the side. “Were you staring at my ass?”

“What? Pfft — I — what — yeah. Yeah, I was.” He nods gravely and rigorously. “You’ve got a nice one.” He takes the pencils and the canvas and the drawing pad from Ten and places them carefully in the cart. The pencils he puts into a mug they picked up somewhere in aisle 5 or 6.

“Wow, John. Thanks,” Ten says.

Now Johnny’s ears turn red. He leans his forearms against the cart and starts to walk down the aisle again, leaving Ten to trot along beside him. “No one calls me that.”

“What? Your name?” Ten asks incredulously.

“Yeah, weird, right?”

“I can stop,” Ten offers, suddenly feeling self conscious and shy. Maybe he offended him?

But Johnny shakes his head, reaches his arm out and loops Ten around his shoulders, pulling him close so all he can do is put his hands on the cart’s handle too, and walk beside him, their sides pressed together in a searing, hot line. His skin is so warm. He smells like cloves, and citrus, and musk. “Nah, its kinda nice when you call me that.”

“Well, okay then,” Ten says softly. He feels small under Johnny’s arm, nestled and safe.

.

“Look at her side-eyeing us. What’s her deal?” Johnny whispers across their little table to Ten, leaning forward to do so. Between them, there’s meat sizzling on the grill built into the table and a retractable vent to suck up the smoke coming off the browning pork belly. Still, some of the smoke escapes the vent, and so there's a hazy, purplish quality to the air inside. They’re in a booth, their plastic bags full of knickknacks taking up space enough for two additional people. The box fan sits next to Johnny, closer to the wall. Johnny points his chin at their waitress, a slim girl probably in her early twenties dressed in all black, the logo of the Korean barbecue restaurant printed in bright green and red on the back of her sweater. She goes back to the front of the restaurant to giggle at the other waitress up there. They sneak glances at Ten and Johnny, pointing occasionally.

“Don’t know, why don’t you ask?” Ten shrugs and uses his fingers to pick up a cube of pickled radish from one of the many side dishes spread out before them on their table, popping the food into his mouth. After their exhaustive and thorough trip to Target, they both realized how famished they were, Johnny even complaining that he was feeling faint and weak. So they turned the corner and walked a few blocks to K-Town, a short stretch of blocks in the middle of the city where there’s suddenly hundreds of Korean restaurants, salons, stores, and karaoke bars stacked on top of each other like Jenga pieces.

“They’re probably thinking, ugh tourists,” Johnny muses aloud, picking up his metal chopsticks and poking at the browning meat. The smell coming off the food makes Ten’s mouth water. “Or — ugh, students.”

“They probably think we’re cute,” Ten says.

“Cute like they want to date us? Or cute like they want us to date each other?” Johnny asks, a gleam in his eye.

Ten smirks and hums in consideration, an idea forming in his brain. He reaches across the table to lace his fingers with Johnny’s beside the grill, tilts his head coquettishly, and crosses one leg over the other. Johnny doesn’t pull away; if anything, the gleam in his eyes brightens as his fingers curl a little tighter over Ten’s, making Ten’s heart flutter a little in his chest. He clears his throat to stop his heart from fluttering right out of his mouth. His back is to the waitresses, so he whispers, “What are they doing now?”

“Giggling to each other,” Johnny says. The pad of his thumb brushes over Ten’s skin, back and forth, repetitive and calming. Ten wonders if Johnny even realizes he’s doing it, or if he’s just naturally touchy and affectionate. “Whispering. Oh, there’s a blush.”

“So they think we’re cute together,” Ten surmises.

“Definitely,” Johnny agrees. A grin spreads across his lips, forming a tiny dimple in his left cheek. “Funny — I guess now that I think about it, you’re kind of my type.”

Ten's hand involuntarily squeezes Johnny’s hand tighter and shakes it around on the table as though to dispel the sudden wave of embarrassment washing over him. “Yeah?” Ten asks despite knowing it’s not a good idea. “And what’s your type?”

“Cute people.”

“People?”

“Girls, mostly. But I’ve dated a few boys, too.”

“Well, I hope for your sake that your soulmate is cute.”

A collective breath. Johnny's eyes flick to his. Ten should let go.

He should really let go, but Johnny doesn’t let go, and Ten feels frozen where he is, as immovable and unfeeling as stone. When the waitress comes by to check on the grill smoking between them, they’re still holding hands across the table.

.

They don’t talk about soulmates all throughout their meal, but the topic hangs over them like a shroud, until Johnny orders them a bottle of soju to share because, he says, “It’s happy hour somewhere in the world right now.”

So they don’t talk about soulmates, but they talk about almost everything else. Ten tells Johnny about growing up in Thailand, spending summers in England, almost breaking his sister’s nose when they were younger because of an ill-timed cartwheel. Johnny tells Ten about Chicago, how he used to love being called “the hot Asian” in high school before he realized it what it really meant when he saw the kids he considered his friends tormenting this other Korean kid in his class because he was good at math and had an unfortunate acne problem. Johnny shows Ten a couple of vlogs from his old YouTube channel, videos of him going to interesting places around his hometown or doing stupid stunts with his friends, and Ten shows Johnny recordings of his performances, all the way from when he was five and could barely coordinate his arms to go in the same direction at the same time to a performance from just about a month ago, where Ten was the principal and could do a lot more than coordinate his arms to go in the same direction at the same time.

Ten looks up from the screen of his phone, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. By now, the grill has been cleared, and most of the meat eaten, but it feels like no time has passed at all. Johnny stares with his jaw hanging slightly open at the way the tiny Ten on the screen gracefully completes a solo section of the performance, all fluid silks and flowing movements.

"You're really good," Johnny says. His voice is low and gritty and it makes a pleasant tingle shiver down Ten's spine.

"I'm decent," Ten says, recalling Johnny's comment before about how he played the piano.

"I mean, you got into this elite summer program here," Johnny insists, pointing at the screen to emphasize his words. "You're good, Ten."

Ten crosses uncrosses his legs, crosses them again. His foot brushes over Johnny's shin and they both jump a little in their seats at the unexpected touch. And then Ten lets his foot rest there, gently pressed against Johnny's ankle. "I want to hear you play the piano," Ten says.

Johnny grins sheepishly. He doesn't move his legs. "I don't have any recordings or anything. I had lessons when I was young and I'm sure my mom has videos of my recitals? But I stopped taking lessons in high school. Then I just sort of played when I wanted to, practiced when I wanted to. Sometimes, I'd write."

Ten's eyes widen. "Like, your own music?"

Johnny's grin widens and he tucks his chin into his chest, embarrassed. Ten finds the action uniquely adorable. "Not very well."

"I want to hear it!" Ten says excitedly.

Johnny groans. "Oh god, no. Why did I even say anything? I never tell that to anyone."

"Well, you can't take it back now. You have to show me your stuff. I showed you mine."

"Yeah, but the writing is like, really personal, and stuff..."

"And dancing isn't?"

"That's not what I mean!" Johnny says quickly, meeting Ten's eyes in a flash, but Ten is grinning, and Johnny bites into his bottom lip, hiding his smile.

"I know what you mean," Ten says more gently. He lets his foot trail lightly over Johnny's ankle again in reassurance. "I'll show you something I choreographed myself," Ten offers, putting his hand out onto the table. "In exchange."

Johnny considers the hand. He says, "Even if you hate it, you have to pretend you like it, though." Ten nods enthusiastically, and Johnny reaches out and slots their fingers together, palms pressed against each other, not like a handshake at all. "Deal," he says. "Now, question: Do you play footsie under the table with all your roommates, or am I special?"

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, like, was that a date?


	4. Chapter 4

Summer days are long and the sun is still slowly sinking towards the horizon by the time they leave the restaurant, bogged down by Target’s plastic bags. The sky is a a burst of orange and pink, and the air is sticky and humid, heavy; wading through it even a couple of steps leaves Ten feeling likes he’s swam one too many laps in the pool. And Johnny sticks to his side, a warm presence, the loveliest shadow.

"Is there anything else you wanted to do?" Johnny asks, and Ten shakes his head. The flush from the alcohol has worn off but his cheeks still feel hot, his belly full. Johnny knocks his shoulder against him and Ten wants to stay pressed together, against him, skin touching skin.

But instead he pulls away and says, "Let's get a taxi and go back."

.

Installing the box fan brings the temperature of their room down by a couple of degrees, making the heat just about bearable. Still, Ten wishes he could find an ice bath to lay in for a couple of minutes, as even the exertion involved in lifting the box fan with Johnny into the window frame made him break out into a light sweat.

"It's better," Johnny says, stretching his arms up over his head and yawning. His tank rides up slightly, revealing the sides of his stomach, the thin trail of dark hair leading from his navel into his shorts. "And the white noise is kinda nice."

They end up shoving the rest of their haul under their beds and into the dresser they share. The hipster-scented candle stands proudly on top of the dresser, waiting. But something is missing.

"I wish we had ice cream," Ten announces. He knows they've just eaten but he's a dancer and he's got a high metabolism, and the whole point of the meal is to get to the dessert, right?

Johnny shrugs. "So let's get ice cream," he says amiably and easily, running a hand through his hair.

"You don't have things to do?"

"There's a thing later tonight," Johnny says. "Doyoung says they're going out for drinks and then clubbing. But honestly? I'm exhausted and probably a little dehydrated. It wouldn't kill me to miss one night out."

"You could come out with us later, if you want," Ten offers. Hopes. "We're going dancing, I think. I mean, I guess it’s the same thing. If you want to stay in, you should stay in, but if you want to come out, you could come out with us."

Ten flushes, aware he’s rambling. Why should Johnny choose to ditch his friends to come hang out with Ten and his friends, especially if he's hoping for a calm night in.

"Who's 'us'?"

"Me and Sicheng and Lucas." Ten rattles off the names of the others in his program who made  tentative plans for dinner, drinks, and dancing. "Jun and Minghao."

Johnny sits on the edge of his bed, where just this morning Ten had awoken. Ten, after a moment, sits down beside him, shoulders hunched up against his ears. Johnny leans back against his hands, one arm stretched out behind Ten's back, not touching, but there. Present. Waiting. Johnny says, laughing, "And make a fool of myself in front of actual dancers?"

"We won't make fun of you," Ten promises with a smug grin, crossing his fingers in full view of Johnny's vision. "Plus, if we go together, I can make sure you don't go overboard and that you get home alright."

"Hilarious. You're so considerate. But, no, seriously, I don’t want you to have to babysit me all night."

Ten shrugs. "Honestly, I'm just being selfish. I'd be the fifth wheel in the group if you didn't come, and maybe I really need _you_ to babysit  _me._ "

He pretends to think about it, looking up at the ceiling and pursing his lips. "Well, in that case, I have to go," Johnny says slowly, looking at Ten with a mockingly serious expression. Ten chuckles and shoves at him, but Johnny is solid and sturdy and doesn't budge. Instead, it's Ten who rebounds back from his attempted shove, and he would have fallen off the bed if Johnny hadn't reached out to steady him. "Can't have you all by yourself out there," he teases. When they settle again, his arm is against Ten’s back, and Ten lets himself brace against it. “Defenseless. Small. Cute.”

Ten wishes he could stop blushing, stop smiling, stop feeling like his heart is too full to bursting, like it's grown wings inside of him. But he can't, and Johnny's stupid, handsome smirk tells Ten he knows exactly what kind of effect he's having on him.

.

They get ready to go out. Ten changes into a slinky white top that’s more mesh than fabric, with white jeans shredded and torn strategically over his thighs to match. As he’s doing his eye makeup in the bathroom, he notices Johnny changing into something new, too.

A black tank and black jeans. He looks down at himself, chuckling a little at the irony.

“What’s so funny?” Johnny asks, suddenly at the door jamb to the bathroom and leaning casually against it, arms crossed. Ten startles, almost dropping his eyeliner into the sink. Luckily he holds onto it, but he curses Johnny a little for his height. It always seems to surprise him, when Johnny’s full, tall stature is thrown into his face like it is now. It’s just that over the course of the day, when they're just talking, sitting next to each other, Johnny doesn't seem so big. Sure, he’s tall and broad and all that but he has a quiet, gentle presence about him that’s centering and calming and maybe the reason why he doesn’t seem so tall when they’re talking like that is because Johnny sucks up all the air in the room when he’s in it, all of Ten's focus and attention, and so it's impossible to compare him to anything.

“Hello?” Johnny asks, waving a hand in front of Ten’s face. He looks amused.

Ten blinks when Johnny takes the eyeliner out of his hand.

“Hey, can you put some on me? I can't do it myself.”

“I’m not done,” Ten mumbles.

“We’re like opposites,” Johnny says, gesturing between them and putting the pencil back into Ten’s hand. Ten looks at them both reflected in the mirror above the sink. Johnny towers over him by almost a whole head. “Black and white. Nice. White’s risky though. I mean, all the drinks? The potential spills?”

Ten scoffs and hipchecks him. This really does nothing but Johnny plays along and stumbles to the side anyway, grinning, as Ten leans into the mirror again and thickens the eyeliner on the lid of his left eye to match his right. “I don’t spill,” Ten says. “I’m very graceful. I’m a _dancer._ ”

“You don’t have to have a big head about it,” Johnny teases, rolling his eyes. Ten throws one of the crumpled up tissues he used to clean up his makeup on the counter at him, and Johnny squawks, stepping away from the bathroom completely. “No, not the tissues!”

“Go sit on the bed until I’m done. I’ll come out for you in a bit.”

“Oh,” Johnny purrs. “Yes, _sir._ ”

“ _N_ _ot_ like that!” Ten shouts, voice pitchy.

He can almost hear Johnny’s returning pout, can definitely hear Johnny's deep, amused chuckle shortly after, so he takes as long as he reasonably can as revenge to fix his eye makeup until it’s smokey and perfect, his eyeliner winged at the ends and his shadow blended from charcoal to a fine, silver dust from the inner corner of his eye to the outer. He puts on some lip color and gloss. Nothing too bold, but just enough for his lips to look just bitten and plump. When he's done, he finds Johnny sitting on the side of his bed, hugging a pillow to his stomach as he scrolls through his phone, his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Okay,” Ten announces, standing there with his hands curled into loose fists against his sides. He feels nervous for some reason, like he’s about to go out on stage in front of a huge crowd and he can’t remember the opening 8-count of the choreography.

Johnny looks up. A smile grows across his face, lazy and indulgent. He’s a little breathless when he says, “Wow. You look great.”

“Do I?” Ten asks, even though he knows he does. He runs his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, amazing. Hold on--” Johnny snaps a picture on his phone so quickly Ten barely has time to blink.

“Hey--!” He strides forward, reaching for the phone.

“You look good!” Johnny holds his phone back and behind him, out of Ten’s reach. “I promise. My friends just wanted to see you. They’re giving me shit for ditching.”

“Oh,” Ten breathes, lowering his hand. “Well, if you still want to go with them… I mean. You’re not stuck with me. You don’t have to be stuck with me.”

Johnny waves his hand in front of his face. “Too bad, because you’re totally stuck with me. Have to babysit you, remember?”

“Well,” Ten says, crossing his arms and jutting out his lower lip, not sure what to say to that. “Um, do you still want me to do your eye makeup?”

“Heck yes,” Johnny says emphatically.

“In the bathroom?”

“Just do it here,” Johnny says, patting the space on the mattress beside him.

Ten gives in quickly and approaches the bed, sliding onto the sheets and folding his legs under him. Johnny turns and crosses his legs onto the bed, the fabric of his jeans straining against his thighs, and Ten swallows. “Okay, close your eyes,” Ten says.

Johnny’s eyelids flutter closed, and his lashes flick shadows across the tops of his cheeks. Ten has to raise himself up onto his knees for a good angle, so he does, biting into his lips as he focuses and takes Johnny’s chin gently in hand. He can feel a little bit of stubble under his fingertips.

“Just the liner?”

“Yeah,” Johnny says. The light overhead is bright and harsh, but Johnny’s skin still seems to glow under it. His face is made of sharp angles and lines. The slope of his nose and the dip of his philtrum. His high cheekbones and the slant of his eyebrows. To Ten, he seems carved from marble, made soft by the artist in love with his sculpture. For a week, he has tried to ignore the flutter in his chest when his roommate wakes after him in the mornings, sleep rumpled, his voice gravelly when he says, “Good morning,” because what could come of it? He knows what his timer says and he has an idea of what Johnny's says, too. But now Johnny is here, and there’s no ignoring him.

Ten puts the tip of the pencil to Johnny’s lash line and carefully draws black along it. And then he does the same for the other. He checks the makeup and effect, turning Johnny's face to the left and the right slowly, his fingers still on Johnny's chin.

“Done,” Ten says quietly.

Johnny hums, eyes still closed.

Ten didn’t realize how he’d leaned forward to inspect his work, for now they’re just centimeters apart, Johnny’s shallow breaths breaking across Ten’s lips. He could lean just a bit more, he could press gloss and tint against Johnny’s mouth. Then Johnny opens his eyes. They are the color of molten amber. Ten sits back, startled and breathless.

“How’s it look?” Johnny asks.

“Uh huh. Good,” Ten squeaks.

.


	5. Chapter 5

There is a place in the West Village called Big Gay Ice Cream. Ten insists that’s where they go for their treat.

“What if you’re a small gay? Can you still buy something from Big Gay?” Johnny asks pointedly to Ten as they near the storefront, a black facade with eye-caching cartoonish images of rainbows and unicorns and ice cream cones all over. The bell over the door chimes as he opens it, letting Ten enter first.

“Shut up,” Ten says, with no malice. Johnny is grinning and Ten is grinning, too, even though it was a stupid joke at Ten's expense. The sweet smell of freshly baked waffle and cake cones and vanilla-infused cream permeates the air. Ten sizes Johnny up at the counter. “What if you’re a massive gay?”

“Cute comeback,” Johnny says. He reaches out and pokes Ten in the cheek and Ten feels heat flood his face. “And it’s massive bi,” Johnny corrects. He squares his shoulders and smirks as Ten rolls his eyes.

“Massive pain in my ass,” Ten says with pink cheeks.

“It doesn’t have to be painful. Lube and patience works wonders.”

Ten chokes on air as a boy comes to help them behind the counter. It's obvious the worker has heard the last of their exchange because he snickers into his fist. “Johnny, we’re in public!” Ten hisses.

“What’s your point?”

“Welcome to Big Gay Ice Cream,” the boy says, cutting off whatever Ten was going to say next. “Can I interest you in any samples today?”

Johnny quickly shifts his attention to the ice cream attendant, and Ten tries not to pout at the diversion. “I _have_ to try the Salty Pimp,” Johnny says, beaming at the other guy while draping himself elegantly against the counter. The staff person chuckles a little nervously, eyeing Johnny’s form.

“It’s a free sample,” Ten says. “You don’t have to work for it.”

“But I want to _earn_ my treat.”

“I'll get you a sample right away,” the server says, blushing now. He turns to the soft serve machines behind him and takes a small thimble-sized paper cup from the counter to catch the tiny amount of ice cream he allows out of the machine. Then he drizzles some melted chocolate over it and sprinkles on it a pinch of salt. He presents this to Johnny, who takes it eagerly. “Vanilla infused with dulce de leche, coated in dark chocolate and finished with a dash of salt.”

Johnny licks into the tiny cup, his tongue pink and soft as he laps at the ice cream. “Ten,” he says. “This is what an orgasm tastes like.”

“I have it on good authority that orgasms _do not_ taste like vanilla ice cream,” Ten says. “Can I get the Rocky Roadhouse?”

“Sure thing. And the Salty Pimp for you?”

Johnny nods, and as the staff person works on their ice creams, Ten sidles up to Johnny and squints at him like he’s one of those magic eye puzzles. Ten was never very good at those magic eye puzzles. He’d stare for ages but the image would never come together for him, never jump out to him. Johnny both confuses him and intrigues him. He wants to keep looking, thinking that maybe if he does, something will click into place and he’ll see how it’s all supposed to fit together. He glances down at the silver timer band on Johnny’s wrist.

Johnny wears the timer like an afterthought. He almost never looks at it, and more than once Ten has caught him accidentally banging it against a hard surface. It’s scratched and rough, hugging his wrist close. Ten’s timer may just flash zeroes but he takes care of it, still, as a mark of pride. Or maybe as an act of defiance, as though to say, _I’m so unbothered by being Zero’d_ and _I can take care of my timer better than you._

Sometimes he wishes he could rip it off, but back home that’s unheard of. So he has to wear it like a black mark against his skin. It’s inevitably where people first look when you first meet, and Ten can’t help but feel like in that split second is when most people decide whether or not he’s worth any more of their time. It's strange, in a way. With no seconds counting down on his wrist, no end game, no expectations, sometimes it feels like time is all Ten has.

“Here you go,” the boy working the counter says, offering Ten the chocolate soft serve cone.

Ten takes it with a smile. “Thanks.”

“How long have you guys been together?” the boy asks, giving Johnny his ice cream too. “You’re so cute.” His eyes drift to Ten’s and Johnny’s wrists, and his smile widens just a tiny bit.

“Oh, we’re not—!” Ten cuts himself off, staring at Johnny with wide eyes because Johnny’s hand has come to rest on the small of Ten’s back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The taller man lifts an eyebrow in question. In teasing. In solidarity?

“—gonna make it to our dinner reservations, babe,” Ten finishes smoothly, leaning into the palm resting against his back. He smirks up at Johnny when the worker isn’t looking and they can mosey together to the end of the counter where the cashier is busy putting their orders into the tablet register. Johnny's hand is broad and warm across his back, his fingers curving around Ten's hip. God, but he makes Ten feel small in the best possible way.

“You're getting your dessert before dinner?” the staff person asks when they're in front of him. “Respect.”

“Who says I won’t get my dessert after dinner, too?” Johnny responds smoothly, pinching Ten a little in his side, making Ten giggle and curse under his breath. The taller boy leans forward and licks a long stripe up the pillar of chocolate-coated soft serve in his hand before gnashing his teeth down around the tip, breaking through the chocolate shell. Slowly melting vanilla soft serve dribbles down the sides like— well.

Ten swallows, suddenly feeling too hot in the refrigerated space. “Babe...keep doing what you’re doing and we won’t even make it to dinner.”

“You can't even handle me trying to enjoy my ice cream?” Johnny asks, his tongue darting out again to give the chocolate shell another kittenish lick. His eyes positively _glitter,_  and something inside Ten shifts.

You see, Ten's always been a little bit competitive. When he was three years old and his older sister started getting ribbons from dancing in her ballet recitals, Ten begged his mother to sign him up for classes too, so that he could start winning ribbons -- even prettier ones than his sister's. When he was five it was about using _the most_ colors when he filled up the pages of his coloring books. Ten always wanted to run the fastest and jump the highest. Dance the longest and play the hardest. His competitive streak carried him through his multiplication tables in math class and reciting lines and lines of poetry in literature. His sister kissed her first boy at 13 so Ten kissed his at 12. When he dressed up for Halloween, his costumes were elaborately planned and expertly executed.

When he was 16 he met another Zero, a girl who had grown up in England whose family enrolled her in the International School that Ten also attended when they moved back to Bangkok. There was only one other Zero in the whole high school, a senior and a year above them both.

“I bet I can get Mark to go on a date with me first,” the girl said to Ten one day. They'd become friends in the short time they'd spent together so far, thrown together often because of the numbers on their wrists. Ten could almost feel the sigh of relief from his community at their friendship, as though everyone was saying, _here, isn't this wonderful? you're not alone after all_.

Well, Ten took the bet to heart, and two whole months before the older boy was to graduate from high school, he blew Mark in his bedroom when his parents were both out. But in the end it was the girl Mark took on dates, brought flowers, and wrote a cheesy line for as his senior year quote.

But anyway, Ten still considers that a win. And Johnny is looking at him from under his lashes -- a laudable feat considering Johnny's considerable height over Ten -- and Johnny thinks Ten is going to back away from a little game of gay chicken?

Ten smirks. The playful flirting they've been throwing at each other all day suddenly makes sense. Oh, so Johnny wants to _play._

“If it's that good, then you should share,” Ten says, purposefully fluttering his eyelashes and allowing his voice to drop a register. He knows he's made an impact when he sees Johnny's eyes widen. Leaning into Johnny, Ten lowers his head to lick at the older boy's dessert. The vanilla is sweet on his tongue, coating it, and he lets it pool slightly in the center, and he looks up at Johnny with slightly pink cheeks, knowing exactly what he looks like right now.

Johnny breathes heavily through his nostrils, and his hand across the small of Ten's back dips lower, right over the small curve of Ten's ass. “It's good, right?” is all Johnny says after a strained moment, his voice a little broken.

Ten closes his mouth and straightens, licks at his lips to lap at the remaining stickiness. Satisfaction pools in his belly, deep and warm. “Delicious,” he says, all sultry.

"Uh," the boy behind the counter stutters. "Your total..."

"John-babe, you got this, right?" Ten uses the moment to press himself against Johnny and wrap his arm around his waist.

"Oh -- yes I do, I do got this." Johnny nods, fumbling with his ice cream, unsure where to put his hands. So Ten slips his hand into Johnny's back pocket for him to fish out his wallet, dangling it between his fingers like bait on a line. 

"You're cute when you're flustered," Ten says easily, enjoying himself as they switch goods -- he takes Johnny's ice cream from him so Johnny can take his wallet. "It's why I decided to date you in the first place." He turns his gaze to the worker. "Isn't he cute?"

"Uh, yeah," he says with some uncertainty. "I mean, you're both..." When Johnny hands him his card he takes it quickly like it's a ticket to sanctuary and shuts his mouth. The tips of his ears are red.

"Don't put him on the spot like that," Johnny chastises gently.

"Like what?" Ten asks innocently. He thrusts Johnny's ice cream back into his hands when the payment has been settled and Johnny's wallet is safely back in his pocket. "I just think you're so cute. Yes, you are. And so sexy." They turn to leave and Ten continues with the endearments, waving behind him when he hears the worker say, "Thanks! Please come again!"

"So sexy and big and tall -- my John-John." He links their elbows together as they exit the shop.

"Please don't call me that," Johnny says with a laugh. "You're ridiculous. I love it. I should have known footsie was just the tip of the iceberg with you." The bell from the door rings behind them as the door closes.

Outside, the sun has dipped so low that it is hidden behind the tall buildings of the city, but the golden rays still permeate throughout, coating everything a dusky orange. The light makes Johnny's skin glow, and for a moment Ten is breathless. For a moment Ten is trapped in Johnny's easy laugh and warm skin and the crinkles that form at the corners of his eyes.

"Kiss me," Ten says.

Johnny pauses, and so Ten pauses. A couple walking behind them swerve around them on the sidewalk. "What?" Johnny asks.

Ten laughs, slapping a palm against Johnny's chest and pushing himself away from him. Their arms un-link. Ten feels strangely un-anchored without the soft bend of Johnny's elbow. "Hah," he laughs again. "You're too chicken to."

It takes a moment for Johnny's smile to return, but it does, and the tension Ten hadn't realized he'd been holding releases from his chest. "I'm not too chicken to kiss you," Johnny says. 

"So do it," Ten says, forcing himself still. He juts his chin out in challenge, and Johnny nears him, his big hands coming to rest on the edges of Ten's hips. Ten's heart is going so fast he's surprised it hasn't hammered right out of his rib cage. He raises himself up onto his toes, puts his hands on Johnny's hips, too, takes a breath, and Johnny says:

"No."

Ten's eyes snap open. He falls back down to the earth, flat-footed and clumsy. "What?"

"I won't kiss you, because you think we're still pretending right now."

Ten frowns, confused. "It's a game," he says. "I'm a Zero. It's all games to me."

Johnny cocks his head to the side and looks at him without blinking. It makes Ten want to squirm. It feels kind of like Johnny can see through him to his bones, and he's not sure how he feels about that.

"Well, it's not all games to me," Johnny says after too long. "Come on, let's go find your friends at the bar." He loops his arm around Ten's shoulders and starts them walking again, and Ten is so shocked that all he can do is follow, and lick occasionally at his ice cream, and gaze up at Johnny every once in a while as the sun finally sets on the city.

.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just FYI, I added a few tags and also changed the rating.

The bar isn't far from the ice cream shop, just a couple of long, winding, mismatched blocks away, so they take their time walking and eating, and halfway through the walk Ten threads his arm through the bend of Johnny's elbow again because he can't stand not having that connection. It feels strange to be apart. Johnny's not mad at him, he can tell, but he's quiet and thoughtful, and that makes Ten quiet and thoughtful, too.

He loves the West Village. Last summer, he visited New York City for a week with his friend Kun, staying in the area with one of Kun's aunts who owned a couple of restaurants and bars in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Her place was a compact wonder of luxury. Somehow, she made her closet-sized, two-bedroom apartment in the middle of the Village feel like an oasis of space and comfort. He and Kun had been able to come and go at their leisure, exploring the famous gay bars in the neighborhood and staying out way too late to make it in the mornings to the museums they'd promised their parents they'd go to on their trip.

In just one short week, their trip ended, and since then, he hasn't spoken to Kun at all.

"Hey, what's up?" Johnny asks, shaking his arm a little bit to get Ten's attention. Ten hadn't realized that, after finishing his ice cream, he'd wrapped both hands around Johnny's bicep as they walked, clinging to him. "What're you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Ten says automatically, flashing a smile at the curiosity in Johnny's features.

"I find that hard to believe," Johnny says. He's done with his ice cream, too. There's a little bit of chocolate at the corner of Johnny's mouth, and Ten wants very badly to wipe it away with his thumb. Or his tongue. He ignores the urge for now.

Ten narrows his eyes at him. "Why?" he asks.

"Gosh, I don't know," Johnny laughs softly and it makes Ten's heart do funny, slightly alarming things in his chest. "You looked -- distant."

"Just thinking about home," Ten says, and it's not too far from the truth.

"Yeah? Tell me more about it."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything. Where's your favorite spot back home?"

Ten smiles, looking down at his feet as their steps slow even further. "That's easy. The studio, of course."

"Tell me about the studio."

"I pretty much grew up there. I was there everyday after school, sometimes all weekend, too. I learned ballet and jazz and traditional dances there. Hip hop and modern. It's a little bit far from my home but it was close to school, so it was easy to get to. My favorite time to get there was right after school, before all the other kids would get there, because the other kids would go get snacks and stuff? But I'd head straight to the studio. I wanted to practice, and that was almost the only time I had the mirrors all to myself. All my closest friends were there."

It's where he'd met Kun.

"Do you still go? Now that you're out of high school?"

Ten shrugs, shaking off the shroud of dull energy that always falls over him when he thinks of Kun, now. "Yeah, but it's different. Sometimes, I teach now. I'm not a student there anymore, I'm one of the grown ups." Ten sticks out his tongue and scrunches his nose at the thought.

Johnny laughs again, carding his fingers back through his hair, which falls back around his face in gentle waves.

He's a strange kind of beautiful, Ten thinks, and his breath and his heartbeat fall out of sync at the thought. Clinging a little tighter onto Johnny's arm, Ten says suddenly, "What did you mean, when you said it wasn't all games to you, earlier?"

"Just exactly that," Johnny answers without looking at him.

Their walk has slowed to a crawl, and Ten knows that just around the next corner is the bar where they'll meet his friends. He finds he's not quite ready to see them yet. He stops, tugging on Johnny's arm. "Then what is it, if it's not all games?"

Johnny looks at him sidelong and sighs. "I don't know yet."

Ten's heart swoops low like a seagull diving for scraps. "Our numbers don't match, Johnny," Ten says quietly.

The taller boy moves his arm and Ten immediately lets go, feeling sorry for himself and ready to spend the whole night drowning himself in sweet cocktails hoping to forget the past couple hours of this day, but then Johnny's sliding his hand across Ten's waist and cupping his palm around the edge of his hip, holding him snug and close. Ten actually gasps when he's pulled to Johnny's side.

"Let’s just have fun tonight. Let's not worry about that yet," Johnny says, like it's that easy, but he smiles at Ten and maybe it is, maybe it can be that easy.

Maybe tonight he can forget he's wearing his stupid timer flashing zeroes and he can forget that Johnny is still waiting to meet his real soulmate somewhere-somewhen and he can get a stupid drink with his hot roommate and maybe hook up and not freak out and make a big deal out of it and ruin things between them for the rest of the summer.

There's still that spot of chocolate at the corner of Johnny's mouth. Ten lifts his hand and drags his thumb across it, and then he sucks the pad of his thumb between his own lips, watching Johnny watch him.

Johnny groans, and Ten feels himself grinning. "You had chocolate," he explains.

"And you might actually be the devil," Johnny says. "A very cute devil."

.

They find Sicheng and Lucas tucked away in the corner of the bar at a rickety high-top table with five equally rickety stools around it. A couple of empty cocktail glasses already litter the surface of the table, along with a half-empty plate of fries and potstickers shining from the grease coating them.

“Guys, hey!” Ten calls out as they near, crossing a small open space among all the high top tables that's probably meant to be a dance floor later on in the night. There’s music playing overheard, bass-driven and thumping, but it’s barely discernible over the volume of conversation in the bar. Sicheng notices them first, raising an eyebrow when he sees that Ten has brought someone with him and smiling with closed lips.

“Hey, Ten.” Sicheng nonchalantly leans a little out of his seat to allow Ten to give him a quick hug, and offers his cheek for an exchange of air kisses.

Lucas is more enthusiastic -- and possibly already a bit drunk -- clambering off the stool and opening his arms wide to engulf Ten in a bear hug.

“Hey, Lucas,” Ten says with a laugh, voice muffled against Lucas’ chest. He still smells like Axe but not as much as he used to, after Ten complained to him on the first day of their summer program that it was like Lucas showered in the stuff.

“Ten!” Lucas returns excitedly. “Who’s this? New friend?” Ten can hear the wink in his voice and rolls his eyes.

“Guys, this is Johnny. My roommate for the summer. Johnny, this is Sicheng, and Lucas.” They exchange greetings, and Lucas gives Johnny a hug similar to Ten’s.

“When two towers collide,” Sicheng says to Ten as Ten climbs onto the stool next to his friend and they watch Johnny and Lucas teeter against each other because Lucas kind of perpetually has two left feet and Johnny is not really sure where to put his hands. Ten giggles at Johnny’s wide eyes and amused smile and Sicheng elbows him in the ribs. “Roommate, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ten says.

“Sure,” Sicheng says, in that way of his. “Lucas, get your big bear paws off Ten’s roommate and let them catch up to us.” To Ten he says, “We’re just two drinks in but Lucas’ tolerance is next-to-nothing. What do you want to order?”

“Where are Minghao and Jun?”

“Probably making out in the bathroom,” Sicheng says with a smirk.

“Ugh, they’re so gross.”

“They’re cute, sorta. They’re soulmates after all.” A unconscious glance down at Sicheng’s wrist. His timer has been slowly trickling down, the numbers getting smaller and smaller. Barely 48 hours left, which means Sicheng will be meeting his soulmate on Monday while they’re in the middle of warm ups and stretches in the morning before their program starts up again. There's a tightness to his lips when he smiles, so Ten knows he's nervous about meeting his soulmate.

The word leaves a sour taste in Ten’s mouth. He pulls one of the bar menus on the table closer to him and squints at the words in the poor lighting. There’s some sort of Asian theme to the bar so a lot of the drinks have lychee or ginger in them. As a rule, Ten stays away from fresh fruit after eating an apple gave him stomach pains for hours, but he can have juice. “What did you get? Can I try it?”

“Sure.” Sicheng slides his drink over to him, and Ten takes a sip from the straw. It’s sweet but a little acidic too, and the alcohol hits him right at the very end.

“Tequila?” Ten says with a little wrinkle in the bridge of his nose.

“Yup.”

“Tequila, then.” Ten nods and raises his hand, calling a waitress over to their table.

.

Sometime after midnight, the group finds themselves inside a club on the edges of the Meatpacking district, the dance floor packed with bodies and the ground sticky with spilled drinks (though none of those spilled drinks are Ten's. He is, after all, a skilled and graceful dancer). When Ten blinks the world spins around him, lights flashing in time with the thumping music as he rolls his hips and dances. Sicheng is there with a big grin on his face and Lucas has somehow managed to bring over two pretty, long-limbed girls to their dance circle and is making a fool of himself between them -- to their utter delight. Jun and Minghao had gone back home sometime between the first and third bar, which was to be expected.

That leaves--

“Johnny!” Ten shouts, whirling around to look for his roommate. The images in front of his eyes lag a little like a buffering video, but he’s still steady on his feet. “Johnny! John~”

“Don’t panic; I’m right here,” Johnny says, materializing behind him with a glass in his hand. He looks good, so good, handsome grin on his face and hair slightly mussed from dancing, cheeks flushed, shoulders bare. He holds out the glass to Ten. “I got you something.”

Ten takes it from him, sipping from the tiny straw and shooting Johnny a look of betrayal as the cool liquid slides down his throat. “It’s water!” he says, disgusted.

“Yeah? You said you were thirsty.”

“For _al - co - hol_ ,” Ten enunciates slowly like Johnny is a little kid. He thrusts the water back at him, and Johnny takes it, sipping at it also. Indirect kiss, Ten thinks, and then he gets upset because he remembers how Johnny had refused to kiss him earlier when they were out eating ice cream and having fun.

“It’s just a little refresher,” Johnny reasons as he presses closer to their dancing circle. It can’t be helped. More bodies join the crowd on the dance floor, squeezing everyone together. Johnny’s hips knock against Ten’s and stay there. “You’ve had, like, 4 shots already.”

“I’m not drunk!” Ten says, wriggling his body and jumping up and down to the beat.

Johnny laughs. “Clearly.”

“If I was drunk, could I do this?”

Ten turns around abruptly and presses his ass up against Johnny, smirks when he hears the boy’s exclamation of surprise and feels one of Johnny’s hands on his hips. Then he drops to the ground, knees wide, bounces twice before slowly working his hips up again, over Johnny’s thighs, looking over his shoulder all the while at his roommate. Johnny’s eyelashes flutter as he bites into his lower lip, and Ten can’t hear it, but he can feel him groan.

He straightens and presses himself flat against Johnny’s front, pulling at one of the other boy’s hands so that it rests over Ten’s belly. Their hips move in sync with each other, and Ten’s breaths deepen, inhaling and exhaling in time with the slow grind of their bodies.

“God, Ten,” Johnny breathes against his ear. His breath breaks across Ten’s skin, making him shiver.

They dance like that for a little longer, one song blending into the next. Johnny’s hands only touch where Ten guides them, and after a while it’s not dancing at all, but a gentle swaying of their bodies, Ten’s form cradled against Johnny’s, and he imagines what it would feel like to be his. To know when he wakes up in the mornings that they are meant to be with each other. To have someone he can call home.

It’s too good, too lovely, so in the end it’s too much.

He’ll never have that with Johnny, nor anyone else.

Ten breaks away from Johnny at the start of the next song and doesn’t say anything, winding his way through the crush of bodies on the dance floor to to the bar, where he can see the top of Lucas’ head above almost all the others, and Sicheng’s pink hair next to it. He looks back. Johnny hasn’t followed him.

Good. He needs a break from him. He needs another drink. Johnny makes him want to do impossible things like hold his hand and kiss him sweetly and hope for a future together. It makes him feel a little sick, but like an addict who's tried to abstain for a long while, now that he’s had a little taste, he can’t help but want to dive in nose-first.

Which is dangerous, mostly for him.

“Hey, lover boy,” Lucas greets him. “Looks like you were having fun out there.”

“You were, too,” Ten says. “What happened to those girls?”

“I got their numbers,” Lucas says. “I’m taking them out on a date on Tuesday.”

“What -- together?”

“Yup,” Lucas says, looking all smug and satisfied. “It was their suggestion, actually.” The bartender comes over and Lucas holds up four fingers and orders something for them, the timer on his wrist flashing. The number on Lucas’ timer is so high he has almost decades left before he’s to meet his soulmate. So he figures that in the meantime, he can fall in and out of love with those who are willing, just like people used to before timers were ever a thing. In Hong Kong, he’s told them, some people have even started to take their timers off completely, going at the whole thing blind. Ten can’t fathom it -- the love part. Sure, he’s had relationships in the past, but he’s never allowed himself the luxury of love. What’s the point if you’re not meant to be together?

“Lucky you,” Ten says. He smacks Lucas’ butt affectionately, and in retaliation, Lucas loops his arm around Ten’s neck and brings him in to mess up his hair. “Stop! You monster!”

Lucas lets up when Ten whines cutely and turns to Sicheng for help. His friend immediately brushes his fingers through Ten’s hair and fixes it the best he can. “You look cute!” Sicheng says with a lopsided grin. “Don’t worry -- Johnny will think you’re cute even if you shave your head.”

Ten squawks as the bartender slides over four tall shot glasses filled with a layers of colorful liquids -- their drinks. “I would _never_ shave my head,” Ten promises.

“He has actual stars in his eyes when he looks at you,” Sicheng says, divvying up the drinks between them. “Should we wait for him?”

“Does not. And no.”

“Does, too!” Lucas yells. He holds up his little glass. It looks comically small in his fingers. “Cheers! To getting lucky!”

They clink glasses. The liquid burns as it sluices down Ten’s throat.

.

Okay, so maybe Ten is a little drunk. It’s not his fault the pavement keeps moving away from him as he walks, and that his legs are shaky and uncoordinated. It’s 3AM and Johnny has come back to him like a boomerang. They are waiting outside on the sidewalk for a cab, Lucas running out onto the cobblestone streets and waving his arms around in order to hail one.

Johnny is sturdy like a wall. Ten leans against him and sighs when Johnny’s arm comes around his waist to keep him still. He cranes his neck to look up at him, giggling when he can see right up Johnny’s nostrils. “If I throw you, will you come back?” Ten asks, still giggling.

“I would love to see you try to throw me,” Johnny responds, eyes twinkling.

Next to him, Sicheng laughs as well, pointing at Lucas. “What a fool.”

“I could do it,” Ten says. He frowns and squares himself up, leans too far back and almost loses his balance. “I took Tae Kwon Do when I was younger. I could totally do it.”

“Again, would love to see you try.”

Ten pouts and hangs off of Johnny’s arm. “Maybe when the world stops spinning,” he says dramatically.

Johnny’s laugh is full and deep and ignites warmth in the pit of Ten’s belly, and a flush rises to his cheeks.

“Cute,” he hears Johnny say distantly.

Lucas manages to hail a cab. They climb in, and Johnny takes the hump seat because Lucas claims shotgun and Ten insists Johnny needs to be in the middle for safety reasons. It makes no sense, but the taller boy graciously goes with it, and five minutes into the cab ride Ten passes out on Johnny’s shoulder.

.

He dreams he is being carried to shore by ship on gentle, rolling waves. Ten’s eyelids flutter open, his mouth dry and tongue fat in his mouth. His head is starting to pound, and it takes a moment for him to realize that he hasn’t suddenly sprouted six inches since his nap in the cab and that he is instead perched on Johnny’s back, and Johnny is hoisting him into the elevator of their dorm room.

“Hey,” he says, voice scratchy. “You can put me down.”

“You sure?” Johnny asks, turning to look at Ten, an action that puts their noses within millimeters of each other.

Ten barely blinks at the proximity, snuggling his face into Johnny’s neck and nodding. He feels Johnny drop his legs one by one, gently, keeping his hands nearby in case Ten loses his balance. The elevator starts. Ten watches the numbers climb up in the display above the panel of buttons.

His brain is still fuzzy with alcohol. Though he thinks he can walk, his legs won’t cooperate, and when he tries to take a step out of the elevator, he lists to the side and stumbles into Johnny, who catches him with a snicker.

“You’re still wasted,” he says.

“Shut up,” Ten snaps petulantly, allowing himself to be righted by Johnny. “How come you’re not? It’s not fair -- you’re like a mountain, of course your tolerance is higher.”

“I didn’t drink much,” Johnny reminds him. He’s practically carrying Ten down the hall again to their room. “Remember? I came to babysit you.”

Ten tries to say something like “don’t need a babysitter” but it gets lost in his mouth when his tongue gets all twisted, and Johnny laughs at him again before reaching out with his palm and cupping the back of Ten’s head with it. His fingers plays with the short hairs at the nape of Ten’s neck. “You want more water?” Johnny asks.

“Yes, please,” Ten chirps. He manages to sit on his bed all by himself, but bending over to take off his shoes proves to be more challenging than he anticipated, now that his head feels like it’s twenty pounds too heavy. “Johnny,” Ten whines. “Help.”

Johnny returns with a glass of water and gives it to him. Ten chugs it down, a little of the water spilling down his chin, but it tastes so good on his dry tongue that he doesn’t care. Johnny crouches in front of him. “Shoes?”

He nods, placing the glass on the little table beside the bed with a thunk. Watches Johnny untie the laces of his shoes and lift his foot like he’s a princess about to be fitted for glass slippers. Johnny works the heels of Ten’s Converses off his feet and even helps him take off his socks, putting the socks inside the shoes and shifting the shoes neatly to the side and slightly under the bed, out of the way. His diligence makes Ten’s chest tickle. “Did you have fun tonight?” Ten asks, hushed and anxious. He hopes Johnny had fun, even if Ten was being a flighty weirdo.

“Yeah,” Johnny says, standing. “Had some ups and downs, but overall, a good time.” He has the audacity to wink, and Ten flushes, feeling guilty.

“Sorry for being...” Ten bites into his bottom lip, unsure how to finish the sentence and looking at Johnny with his best Doe eyes.

“Ten,” Johnny says. He holds his hand out, just hovering under Ten’s cheek, but doesn’t close the distance. So Ten leans into it, sighing when skin contacts skin. Johnny's hand is so warm and comfortable. Is that normal? He could fall asleep like this, chin pillowed in Johnny's palm. He hears Johnny suck in a breath between this teeth. Hears him say, "Fuck. It's okay, Ten. I like you. Is that okay?”

Ten's heart is like a jackhammer in his chest. It hurts and it’s so loud in his eardrums and it’s all he can hear. And Johnny looks even more beautiful in the silvery, ambient moonlight filling their room, shadows on his face but his eyes glittering like they hold entire constellations within. Ten can see himself reflected in them. “I don’t know yet,” Ten whispers. “But please, kiss me,” he says desperately.

At first, Johnny kisses him like a wave crashing against the shore, surging over him as they fall back onto the bed, his knee between Ten’s thighs. Ten gasps as the waves build and crest, feeling as though he’s being dragged under the roiling waters and thinking it might be okay to drown, if it were like this, if Johnny could kiss him with his soft lips and touch him with his warm hands and roll his hips against him just like that.

Ten reaches a band between them, cups Johnny over his jeans, feels him quake above him on his elbows. Then Johnny’s hand takes Ten’s and brings it to lay over his hip instead.

Ten turns his face away from the kisses and asks, confused, “John -- what?”

“I just want to kiss you for a while,” Johnny says breathlessly. “We can figure the other stuff out later.”

“Figure _what_ out?” Ten asks. “Sex?”

“Us,” Johnny says, brushing the word like a caress over Ten’s cheek. “I want to figure us out. And you. I want to figure you out, too.”

Ten lays back heavily, unsure what it means that his heart is fluttering again but the acid in his stomach is also rioting inside of him. He shifts his hips under Johnny so that they’re not pressed up against each other anymore, relieving some of the pressure. Johnny rolls off of Ten and to the side, holding himself up on an elbow, his other arm draped across Ten’s belly, hand under his shirt. The pad of his thumb brushes back and forth over Ten’s ribs. Ten swallows the lump in his throat. He knows what this feeling is: heartburn. Ugh. “You want to figure me out, Johnny Suh?”

Because here’s the thing: there’s nothing worth figuring out. Ten knows they’ll sleep together a couple times over the summer and then be done with it, because Johnny has someone else waiting for him. Ten will never be someone’s always. And that’s okay. Ten has had lots of flings with boys who’ve had their numbers running down on their wrists. Boys who would always ultimately leave him and they both knew it besides, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun while they were together. It just meant he got pretty good at picking up the pieces of his poor, shriveled heart every time he was left on his own again.

“Yeah, I do.” Johnny kisses him again, on the forehead, and it’s so gentle that Ten has to close his eyes because he can’t look at him anymore or the acid in his stomach will eat its way out of his throat.

Or maybe that’s the alcohol.

“Shit,” Ten sits up and the room spins. Luckily, the bathroom is only three long steps away from his bed, and he makes it there before he gets sick.

.


	7. Chapter 7

Ten wakes up with his nose buried against Johnny's chest and fingers playing idly with his hair. His mouth is as dry as a desert and his eyelids feel crusted together. He's fairly certain there's dried drool on his chin, and when he shifts slightly his stomach lurches alarmingly so he freezes, whimpering.

"You up?" Johnny says from somewhere above him. He sounds both very far away and very close, his words reverberating inside of Ten's head like a rubber ball bouncing rapidly off the walls in a squash court.

"So," Ten grits, "effing. _Loud_."

"I'm whispering," Johnny whispers. Fingers scratch the base of Ten's neck and Ten tries not to mewl. He's aware he's curled up against Johnny's side like a pathetic kitten, the covers thrown off both their bodies in the heat. Their box fan whirs in the window, at least providing them with a breeze.

"Stop moving," Ten says.

"I'm laying very, very still," Johnny tells him, which is weird because Ten feels like he's on a gently rocking boat. It's kind of giving him motion sickness.

"Well," Ten says, and leaves it at that, eyes still closed. He's content to try to drift back to sleep, hopes that another hour or two is all he needs to chase this hangover away, but after another minute with his ear pressed against the slow beat of Johnny's heart, the taller boy shifts, his knees knocking against Ten's. When Ten makes a grumbling sound, Johnny shushes him gently.

"I just need to use the facilities," Johnny says eloquently, a teasing lilt to his words. "I'll be right back."

When Johnny leaves the bed, the space he leaves behind is warm and smells like him. Citrus. Cloves. Ten inhales and rolls over onto his back and knows he won't be going back to sleep. He flings his hand out towards the nightstand and finds Johnny's phone. A quick tap of his finger against the screen tells him it's nearing one in the afternoon. He hears the toilet flush and the water in the sink run. Then Johnny comes out, wearing glasses.

Ten swallows. "I didn't know you wear glasses."

"Oh yeah," Johnny says, grinning and adjusting them so that they sit higher on the bridge of his nose. "I need them to see."

"But I've never seen you with them," Ten insists.

"Contacts, Ten," Johnny says. He tilts his head to the side and his hair flops over and the sun glints off his lenses and Ten wishes he could control time and go back so he could never have dragged Johnny out to buy the fan yesterday because now he knows what it feels like to wake up next to Johnny, his voice husky with sleep and his tired eyes and his gentle fingers playing with his hair and he's pretty sure he'll want this forever and ever if he could have it. Johnny comes back to bed, groaning like an old man with creaky bones as he crawls across the mattress and curling around Ten like it's the most natural thing to do, to fit their bodies together like this. "You're so cute when you're sleeping."

Ten's knee-jerk response is: "You were watching? Creep."

Johnny chuckles, though, and just brushes the hair back from Ten's eyes. He's propped up on his elbow and Ten squirms in the quiet that follows, because all Johnny's doing is looking at him with his lips furled up at the ends and his glasses glinting from the sun every once in a while. Ten has to squint against the light, head pounding.

He suddenly remembers last night. Too many shots of tequila and drunkenly stumbling home with Johnny's arm around his waist. Coming to in the elevator after dreaming of waves. Johnny's big, gentle hands helping him to bed. Asking for Johnny to kiss him. Then pushing him away to be sick in the toilet. A blush streaks across his cheeks at the memory.

"Jesus," Ten says. "How drunk was I last night?"

"Very," Johnny says, still petting his hair. Ten could get used to this. His eyelids flutter closed. He shouldn't, though. "But you were alright towards the end, I think. Or weren't you?" Suddenly there's concern in Johnny's voice, and Ten feels shitty about what he's going to say next.

"I can't remember," Ten whispers shakily. He hopes Johnny doesn't pick up on the tremors in his voice. Hopes maybe Johnny will think it's just a by-product of his hangover.

Johnny's hand freezes, and Ten almost whines at the loss of movement and comfort. He feels it come to rest on his hip, but Johnny doesn't squeeze or anything, just lays his hand there. "So..." Johnny begins uncertainly, "What do you remember about last night?"

"The bar?" Ten says, hating himself a little more with every word that comes out of his mouth. "The first one. After that everything is fuzzy. And then bits and pieces of other stuff. Dancing with you. You helped me with my shoes. Uh, throwing up."

"You don't remember anything else?"

"Maybe it'll come back," Ten says tentatively, trying very hard not to think about their kiss.

"Maybe," Johnny says, sounding disappointed. Ten opens his eyes to see Johnny worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. He remembers how soft and plush Johnny's lips had been, how his fingertips had burned where he touched him. How earnest and lovely Johnny had looked when he'd said, _Ten, I like you. Is that okay?_

"I'm sorry," Ten says. He screws his eyes shut again and presses his face against Johnny's chest. Inhales citrus and cloves. "I shouldn't drink so much. I always forget. I was probably so annoying..."

Johnny frowns. "You weren't," he says. His fingers tap Ten's nose, prompting him to look up again. "Hey, you weren't. Okay? You took care of me last week when I was a drunk fool, so let's just call it even."

"So I was a fool?" Ten gasps.

"No! No, of course not."

"Did...anything happen last night that I should know about?" Ten asks, wanting to give Johnny a chance to bring up his confession and their kiss, if he wants to. Ten kind of hopes he wants to, but also kind of hopes they can both forget it ever happened. It's easier that way. For Ten, at least.

Johnny's quiet for a moment, and Ten feels like he's dancing on the edge of a precipice, waiting for his answer. But then he says, "I guess not," and something extinguishes inside of Ten like a candle's flame in a sudden gust.

.

After lazing about for another hour and ignoring their protesting stomachs, Johnny declares it’s time for lunch and asks Ten what he wants. There’s nothing that settles a hangover quite like spicy noodle soup -- even in the dead of summer -- at least in Ten’s opinion, so they go to Cafe Asia two blocks from their dorm, unshowered and with the imprints of the wrinkles from the sheets still on their cheeks.

They grab a wobbly table by the windows, Ten shivering slightly in the air conditioned chill of the restaurant.

“You okay?” Johnny asks.

“I’ll be fine,” Ten says. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a hippo.”

They both order bowls of spicy chicken pho. Ten scrolls through Instagram and Twitter on his phone as they wait, and across from him he can only assume Johnny is doing the same. Or he’s texting all his friends about how trashed Ten was last night. Ten wrinkles his nose and shakes his head slightly. Johnny wouldn’t do that. They’ve only really known each other for a day, but Ten is certain Johnny wouldn’t have the heart to trash talk _anyone_ behind their backs. He’s too sweet. And he's sweet enough to trash talk you to your face.

“Do the glasses weird you out that much?” Johnny asks, startling Ten out of his reverie.

Ten blinks and looks back down at his phone, where Sicheng has texted him pictures of a sleeping Lucas with a Sharpie mustache drawn on his face. “No, it’s,” Ten says. “It’s. The glasses look good on you.”

“Yeah?” Johnny reaches across the table slowly with both hands, and Ten freezes. He can feel Johnny’s sandal-ed foot sliding forward under the table to brush against his ankle.

“I--”

The waitress comes back with their bowls of soup, and Johnny has to retract his hands, and Ten can breathe again. He tucks his feet under his chair, out of Johnny’s reach unless he were to stick his legs out completely straight and invade Ten’s space. Which he won’t.

“Ten--”

“This is pretty good,” Ten interrupts, aware his voice is a little too loud for the atmosphere. He continues at a slightly more normal volume, “I mean, not like the best I've ever had. But pretty good. Mmm. Yum. Is yours spicy enough?”

“Yeah, sure.” The grin on Johnny’s face is equal parts confused and amused. “It’s pretty good.” They eat for a few minutes, slurping up noodles and broth. It’s salty and fatty and settles in Ten’s stomach well, and Ten would be content to eat in complete silence for now, but Johnny opens his mouth again halfway through his bowl to say, “Ten, I think we should talk. About last night--”

Ten panics. His soul flees his body and his thoughts ricochet off the walls of his brain like that rubber ball, only faster and harder and louder this time, and he blurts, the words tripping out of his mouth, “When does your timer run out?”

Johnny looks at him with his mouth slightly open, eyes dark. “Well,” he says. Then he looks at his timer and actually does the calculations. “In about a month and a half, it seems.”

Ten’s stomach roils. He looks down at his own wrist, at the timer there. A month and a half is nothing. He had thought, hoped, that maybe Johnny would say he still had a year or more to go. But a month and a half? That’s no time at all.

“So, this summer.” It feels like he's sinking into a pit of dread.

“Yeah,” Johnny says.

“Are you nervous? Excited?”

Johnny hums, looks up at the ceiling to think. He says, “I don’t know. It is what it is.”

Which is such a nonchalant and unexpected response that Ten actually drops his big soup spoon in the bowl of noodles. “What?”

“I’m not so big on soulmates,” Johnny says. “I know everyone talks about them and stuff, but like...I don’t see what the big deal is?”

Ten fishes the spoon out of his bowl with shaky fingers. It takes him a couple of tries, but at least it keeps him occupied as he processes what Johnny’s saying. “You don’t see how it’s a big deal? Everyone in the whole universe has someone out there for them that’s fated, and you don’t see how it’s a big deal?”

“I just, like,” Johnny pauses, eyebrows pushing closer together. “Like, is there science behind this? Who says it’s fate? How does it work? _Does_ it work?”

“Uh, _yeah_ , soulmates are happier when they’re together,” Ten says.

“That can’t be absolute,” Johnny retorts.

“It is,” Ten snaps, and only realizes he’s leaned forward with the intensity of his conviction when Johnny rears back.

“I think it’s fine to believe in,” Johnny says steadily, smoothly. “It’s just not for me.”

“But it’s -- everyone. Sicheng is meeting his soulmate _tomorrow._ Minghao and Jun are inseparable. My parents are soulmates. My sister met her soulmate. My friends. Everyone.”

“You’re a Zero,” Johnny says. It’s like a lance spears right through Ten’s chest. Like Johnny's dumped a bucket of ice over his head in the middle of winter. Johnny must see the shock and hurt flashing through his eyes because he waves his hands quickly, flustered, and adds, “I meant that in a good way! You’re kind of, like, outside of all this? You’re not, like, bound. You have choice. And freedom.”

Ten deflates and pushes the bowl out of his way to put his elbows on the table. He's full. Or he's lost his appetite. His shoulders feel heavy. “It’s not like that.”

“People talk about soulmates like they’re the end to all your problems. It’s suffocating. And a lie.” The taller boy’s gaze shifts to somewhere past Ten’s head, his focus elsewhere, like he’s remembering something. “Your problems don’t go away like that, like magic. You talk through them, you communicate. You build something together.”

“You’ve got some romantic notions in your head, John,” Ten says.

Johnny smiles, a little bitter and sad. This time, when he reaches across the table for Ten’s hand, Ten allows him to take it. “Remember? I love love.”

Ten sighs, slotting their fingers together, interlacing them, palm against palm. “Being a Zero is like...It's like building something over and over and over, only for it to be demolished at a moment’s notice. There’s no freedom in that.”

“Ten,” Johnny says. “You remember what happened last night, don't you?" Ten's shoulders tighten, and he knows Johnny sees it. It's a tell. After a moment's hesitation, he nods, unable to meet Johnny's gaze, and Johnny continues, his thumb rubbing the back of Ten's hand in tiny, soothing circles. "I know it’s not conventional. I know it’s a little scary, but I can’t help it. Couldn’t help it if I tried.”

Ten gasps. The restaurant has fallen away, and all he can see and hear is Johnny. All he can feel is the press of their palms against each other on the cold surface of the table between them. “It’s not just scary,” Ten whispers, trying to get Johnny to understand, to see. “We’ll fool around a bit, and then you’ll meet your soulmate, and you’ll forget all about me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Why?”

“You’re sweet, and talented, and beautiful. You’re funny. Yesterday we spent the whole day together and every minute was better than the last. I just want to...I want to build something with you, Ten. Can’t we try?”

The hope on Johnny’s face is what does it. Ten doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him like that. Not Mark in high school and not Kun last summer and not any of the other boys he’s known and, sometimes, loved.

“Whatever happens, whatever we try, you'll leave me in the end,” Ten says, but he can feel his own conviction growing weaker in the presence of Johnny's gentle smile.

Johnny reaches forward and brushes the hair from Ten's face, tucks the messy strands behind Ten's ear. The numbers on his timer grow ever smaller. “I won't make a promise like that,” he says.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly don't know what i'm doing


	8. Chapter 8

“You're quiet.”

Ten jolts out of his fugue state at Sicheng's voice, blinking blearily from his position on the smooth wooden dance floor. He'd been staring at his own reflection in the mirror, legs splayed out to the sides in a halfhearted split, not actually stretching at all. Sicheng, dressed in shiny gunmetal leggings and a loose tank, sits down next to him. Ten's leggings are maroon with gold flecks all over. They were way too expensive to be reasonable or practical but the gold flashes when he moves and make his legs look amazing, so he thinks they're worth the $80 he spent on them. Sicheng grabs at Ten's hands and pulls at his arms until Ten faces him so they can start partner stretches. However, both are so flexible that when Sicheng widens his legs into a split also and pulls Ten toward him, Ten simply falls in half over Sicheng's thighs and sighs, chin pillowed on the meat of Sicheng's quad, belly against the cool floor.

Sicheng laughs, dropping their hands so that he can ruffle Ten's hair. “What's gotten into you?”

“Johnny wears glasses,” Ten says, sighing again.

“So?”

“So we kissed,” Ten explains. He looks up at Sicheng from his position and almost strains his neck at the angle. Grunting, Ten pushes himself up onto his elbows and then onto his palms, almost chest to chest with his friend. It’s still early enough that they’re the only two people in the studio. Just like back home, Ten likes his private time in the mirrored studio rooms, and makes a point of arriving early to stretch and warm up and practice. Within two days of the program starting, Sicheng began to join him for the hour before the rest of the students arrived.

“Did you, now?” Sicheng says, smiling wryly. “Is that all?”

“No, that’s not all,” Ten says miserably, thinking back on how Johnny had been so wonderful yesterday. After lunch at the cafe, Ten had still felt a strange combination of hungover and weightless, like his head was a balloon floating around in the clouds and Johnny was his string, and they’d wandered around Washington Square Park for a bit, sitting by the fountain to cool off in the mist and then basking in the sun when Ten started to shiver. They’d gotten iced coffees and bumped around in the Strand Bookstore near Union Square and found themselves sharing ridiculous quotes they came across in random novels with each other. Johnny had Ten in stitches for almost two hours straight. Then when they’d gone back to the dorms they’d made out on Johnny’s bed for another hour. “We talked, some.”

“Progress,” Sicheng says with a slow nod like he’s some wise sage. His dyed hair bobs in front of his face. “Glad you found time to exchange words between all that kissing.”

Ten throws his arms around Sicheng’s narrow waist and allows himself to sink lower and lower against his front, until he’s horizontal on the ground again, with his face buried against Sicheng’s belly. “What am I gonna do, Sicheng?” he wails.

“Well, I think you’ll probably make out with him a bit more,” Sicheng suggests, patting Ten’s head awkwardly.

“No, I mean--” Ten huffs, squeezing Sicheng a little tighter and pressing his cheek against the softness of Sicheng’s middle. “About the soulmate stuff.”

His friend’s fingers fall to his scalp, scratching lightly. Ten curls into the touch, eyelids fluttering closed. “Do you like him?” Sicheng asks gently.

“I don’t know. It’s only been a weekend, really.”

_"Ten."_

“Maybe,” Ten admits, heart racing at the very thought. Johnny’s face flashes in his mind, his smile, the little dimple that forms in his left cheek, the soft waves of his hair. His voice first thing in thing in the morning when it's still gravelly and husky, like fine smoke. He groans, hiding his face against Sicheng again.

Sicheng laughs. Ten’s cheek bounces against Sicheng’s belly. “Oh, you’ve got it so bad,” his friend says. “I thought he had it bad. But you, you’re worse.”

“This isn’t funny,” Ten says. “I’m going through a crisis!”

“It’s hardly a crisis,” Sicheng reasons. “You both like each other.”

“But he’s got a timer that works. And he told me the other day: He’ll meet his soulmate in like a month and a half.”

“Speaking of:  _My_ soulmate is gonna walk that door in about two minutes and he's -- or she's -- gonna find us here with you in my lap.”

Ten shakes his head, hugging Sicheng tighter when his friends starts to pull away. “No -- I don't care. I _need_ you,” he whines, getting pulled along with him.

“Jesus, Ten,” Sicheng exhales, struggling with Ten's lanky form, but he’s laughing. Ten looks up at him and pouts and flutters his eyelashes and Sicheng rolls his eyes, letting him stay right where he is. “You’re actually the neediest person I’ve ever met,” he says, with affection.

“I’m _not_ needy,” Ten insists, clinging to him still.

“Have you told Johnny how you feel?”

Ten’s breath hitches. “Yes, and he said he doesn’t really care about the soulmate stuff.”

“Well, there you go--”

“But _I_ do,” Ten continues. “People insist it doesn’t matter to them until their timer hits zero, and then something happens. They change. Their whole _world_ changes. That’s just how it is. It’s how it’ll be for you in--” he manages to twist himself so that he can see the numbers on Sicheng’s timer “ _\--shit,_ thirty seconds! Sicheng, you let me ramble on and on about myself when your soulmate is gonna walk through that door!”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Sicheng says drily.

“Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me to shut up!”

“Because I’m a good friend,” Sicheng says, “Plus, it might be funny for whoever it is to see us like this. How they react will help me judge their character.”

The door to the studio opens then with a sound seemingly as loud as a gunshot, and Ten lurches away from Sicheng like he’d been electrocuted. They’re still close and facing each other, however, and now Ten’s blushing while Sicheng lets his gaze pan over to the doorway slowly, as though to draw out the moment.

Sicheng’s timer chimes, just three quick beeps, and in the doorway there’s a boy wearing ripped jeans and a band t-shirt, a huge duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His face is handsome, with a chiseled jawline and strong nose. His hair is purple and a little frizzy, probably from the heat. His left wrist is almost entirely covered in bangles and bracelets, his chrome timer nestled somewhere in the mess. Ten looks back at Sicheng, whose eyes have sort of glazed over from staring at the newcomer.

The stranger flashes a brilliant smile at them both, striding inside and dumping his duffel unceremoniously onto the wooden floor. It thunks dully, kicking up a small cloud of dust. “I’m Nakamoto Yuta,” he says, voice loud and resonant and as bright as his smile. “So which one of you is my soulmate?”

.

Yuta is a dancer plucked from the studios in Osaka, a viral superstar already back home as a b-boy, but who's just getting noticed as an all-around dancer talented in other styles as well. He’s fresh from a competition in Tokyo, where he placed second overall, which is why he’s a little late to the program.

“But enough about me,” Yuta says smoothly, plopping himself down next to Ten and Sicheng and forming a little triangle with them. “What about you?”

They make their introductions. Ten squints a little at Sicheng when he uncharacteristically stutters through his name in English.

“Excellent,” Yuta says, throwing his arms up into the air so suddenly that both Sicheng and Ten flinch back, but Yuta only clasps his hands together in front of him. “I have to admit, I drank a Monster and a coffee before this because I literally just came from the JFK airport, so I’m not quite sure if this is all some sort of fever dream? Because you’re both gorgeous. And you’re both at zero. Does that happen? Is that a thing that happens?”

“Oh,” Ten starts, a little flustered. His hand flies to his wrist out of habit, twisting the timer around his wrist. “It’s not me. I've, uh -- been at Zero -- for a while.”

Yuta frowns, but not for long. His face lights up again when he hones in on Sicheng with his grin. “So that means you…?”

“Eep,” Sicheng squeaks, or something like it. A blush stripes across his cheeks like a painter’s mad brushstroke. Yuta squeals and pinches Sicheng’s cheek, only to have his hand batted away.

“You’re adorable!” Yuta proclaims, unperturbed. “I’m so excited to get to know you. Can we go on a date? You have no idea how much I was looking forward to this. I couldn’t sleep at all on the plane. Hence, the Monster and coffee. Should we go on a date? Let’s go on a date.”

“I suppose…” Sicheng offers hesitantly, wide eyes flitting to Ten’s. Ten can only snicker at his friend, and at his friend’s soulmate. Calm, resolute, peaceful Sicheng, paired with this gregarious firecracker. The universe works in funny ways.

“Great! I asked my friends if they know of any good spots. Not that many of my friends have been to New York, so actually they weren’t helpful at all. But what do you like? I’ll research!”

“Oh my god,” Sicheng whispers, overwhelmed.

“Yuta,” Ten interjects smoothly. He catches the other’s attention by putting a hand on his arm. “Take it easy. It’s still like 8:30 in the morning. It’s a lot to process.”

“Oh,” Yuta breathes, deflating just a little bit. The wattage of his smile, however, doesn’t dim. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m just so excited.”

“Sicheng is, too,” Ten says, smiling at them both. “I’m going to get some water and let you two...get to know each other. Okay?”

“Okay!” Yuta says.

Sicheng nods. His eyes are large and full of gratefulness when he looks at Ten, who slides away from the pair and stands, dusting the specks of dust from his leggings and heading to the door. The water fountain is down the hall. He’ll take his time getting there and coming back. Maybe he’ll step outside to grab a coffee for himself, too. He glances over his shoulder Sicheng and Yuta when he reaches the doorway, and grins when he sees their heads ducked close together as they talk, already looking like they’re whispering the secrets of the universe to each other.

.


	9. Chapter 9

Things don't change between Ten and Johnny right away. There are awkward mornings when Ten isn't sure if he should wake Johnny before he leaves for his program, and long nights out with friends when Johnny comes back to the dorms plastered and giddy and knocks out within seconds of landing in bed. In between, Ten has dance and studio time and Johnny has his internship and they try to fit in the dating thing.

For their first date, they go to the movies. The film is a cliche summer rom-com with a predictable plot line and plot twist and the theater isn't really that full on a weeknight so halfway through the film Johnny decides to whisper his own improvised lines when the characters speak on screen, and his acting is so ridiculous that Ten can't help but snicker and pelt him with kernels of buttered popcorn -- either to encourage his dialogue or stopper it, Ten isn't sure -- which of course devolves into a full on popcorn battle, and just moments before Ten can up-end his extra large Diet Coke over Johnny's head (He wasn't _really_ gonna do it. Not really. Probably.), a light is being shone in Ten's eyes and they're both looking down the barrel of a flashlight into the unamused face of a theater employee.

“I'm sorry sirs, but we've received multiple complaints about your behavior, and we'll have to ask you to leave.”

The couple in seats three rows behind them cough and grumble something under their breaths, and when Johnny and Ten throw matching looks of disbelief over their shoulders at them, they are met with steely glares.

“The movie isn’t even good!” Johnny whisper-screams as the theater employee escorts them out.

Outside the theater doors, they linger under the hawkish and watchful gaze of the employee, separated by a barrier of glass. “Outrageous!” Johnny says, pointing his finger at the employee and wagging it in front of the the employee's face. The employee watches them, his arms crossed, shaking his head. After another ten seconds of exaggerated finger wagging though, the employee cracks a smile, and Ten laughs. Satisfied, Johnny turns away from the doors.

“Guess that was a waste of thirty dollars,” Ten realizes.

“Worth it,” Johnny says. “You had fun, didn't you? Even though we got kicked out and the movie was shitty?”

Ten thinks back on the movie and can't remember even a single plot point. He thinks maybe the female lead could read minds, but that's about all he can recall. Instead, what he remembers are Johnny's eyes as he laughed, his hand taking Ten's over the armrest, bold and sure. He remembers the sharp contrast of Johnny's profile against the flickering light reflecting from the screen. How Johnny saw that Ten was getting bored of the movie and wanted so much to see him smile. Ten threads his arm through the bend of Johnny's elbow and starts to steer them in the direction of a coffee shop he knows is nearby.

“Johnny, it was the best movie I didn't watch,” he says.

.

For their second date, they go to the Highline, a park built on old, abandoned railroad tracks above the city sidewalks, a green space floating two flights of stairs above ground level. Ten's never been, but Johnny's internship program did a city-wide scavenger hunt during their first week for “bonding” and he's a bit more familiar with the area.

“There's an ice cream stand up here that I thought you'd like,” Johnny says when they reach the top of the iron stairs to the entrance of the park above 14th Street, a twinkle in his eye. His camera hangs around his neck. They're both slightly out of breath from the climb, Ten even more so when he steps out onto the landing and sees a field of tall grasses and tiny purple and white wildflowers stretching out from them on either side, the field bisected by a narrow wooden walkway.

To the right, the field continues to the end of the tracks, closed off from pedestrian traffic by a little metal gate. To the left, Ten can see how the field stops and becomes something else, something more industrial, an area filled with curving structures made of wood and metal and glass. When they get closer, Ten sees that the structures are actually benches interspersed with art installments. They walk, hand in hand, and Ten's curiosity grows as they come across an area where the benches look like wooden chaise lounges on wheels that have been built into the old tracks so that people can move the seats around, shift them into pairs or singles.

“Cool, right? One of the scavenger hunt missions was to take a picture on these benches. Actually harder than it looked, because it was crazy crowded. But Doyoung stepped up and asked this group of guys to move? And that's how he met…”

Ten flits his gaze over to Johnny, who's trailed off, looking pensive. “Who?”

After a moment, Johnny says, “Taeyong.”

“His soulmate,” Ten guesses, trying to lighten the sudden -- and unnecessary -- gloom by grinning and giving Johnny's hand a little squeeze. Soulmates were meeting each other all the time. That's a fact that Ten's been living with his whole life. “It's cool, Johnny. You don't have to, like, not talk about that stuff?”

Johnny pouts, and he looks so absolutely adorable with his lips puckered and cheeks puffy that Ten actually startles, blinking rapidly like he that one time he looked too long at the sun and thought he'd gone blind, colors slowly fading back into his vision. Johnny says, “It's just that -- I know talking about this soulmate stuff can be...upsetting for you.”

Ten laughs. “I'm not upset that my friends have soulmates. That's so petty.”

“I'm just trying to be sensitive,” Johnny says.

“I know,” Ten says, pulling them to the side to avoid all the pedestrian traffic. “It's sweet.” He raises himself up on his toes and plants a chaste kiss on Johnny's cheek. Johnny flushes bright red across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “Sicheng and Yuta just met, too. They're...interesting. So, Doyoung and Taeyong?”

“Attached at the hip,” Johnny quips. He leans against the fence that faces out toward the river, and hooks a finger through a belt loop in the waistband of Ten’s shorts, but doesn’t pull. Still, Ten steps closer until his feet are between Johnny’s larger ones.

“Must be difficult, with the internship and all.”

“Yeah, well. Apparently Taeyong is super rich and lives in the city near our offices? And cooks. So he brings lunch for Doyoung all the time and they eat in the plaza and then shop at the stores nearby. Or go back to Taeyong’s for...activities.” The blush remains on Johnny’s cheeks, and Ten is endeared.

“Activities, huh? That’s cute.”

“They’re cute,” Johnny says. “Disgustingly cute.”

The taller man mimes gagging, and Ten laughs, hand falling over Johnny’s wrist at his belt loop. His timer is there, cool to the touch, metal under his palm. He imagines it ticking, can hear the seconds slip as though the sound is being amplified in an auditorium. He swallows, stepping back a little bit to put some distance between them. Not too much, just enough. “Where’s that ice cream stand you were talking about?”

Johnny lets his hold on Ten fall away. If he notices Ten’s subtle retreat, he doesn’t point it out. Instead, he takes a few steps down the wooden walkway before turning back to look at Ten over his shoulder, reaching out his hand for Ten to take if he wants to. “Should be just another block, I think,” he says, wiggling his fingers. “Oh, and after we get ice cream, I want to take pictures of you up here.”

Ten doesn’t even think. He reaches out to take Johnny’s hand.

.

Their third date gets rained out by a freak summer storm. What was meant to be a relaxing Saturday at the MoMA and then maybe a picnic in the park turns into a day stuck in the dorms as the clouds break overhead, turning the sidewalks into shallow rivers.

At least there's Netflix.

Ten hugs one of Johnny's pillows in his lap, the cinder block walls of their dorm cool against his back, as Johnny pulls his laptop onto the bed and pulls up the website. Their window is closed for the first time since they moved in, the fan making a puddle on the floor, the rain splashing against the glass in waves.

“What do you wanna watch?” Johnny asks, already flicking through titles in the Suggestions section. His glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose. They're close on the mattress but not quite touching; Ten can feel heat radiating off of the taller's boys skin. Ever since the Highline, Johnny has been more reserved with his hugs and with the casual presses of his fingers against Ten's body. Ten's noticed, of course, as every interaction with Johnny has left him wanting in a way he's never felt before. Not just wanting, but needing and craving. He doesn't think he's desperate enough to ask him about it, though.

Ten shrugs, wondering if he should close the distance between them. When Ten initiates the touches, Johnny reciprocates easily, but it hurts a little that Johnny has stopped reaching out first. “A drama,” Ten suggests, offering a small smile. “Something really cheesy.”

Johnny smirks at him and Ten flushes at the way the look makes heat flare in his gut. “You call it cheesy but I bet you love that stuff, don't you?”

“...maybe,” Ten admits in a small voice, hugging the pillow closer to his chest.

“I knew it.” The triumph on Johnny's face makes his eyes shine bright in the grayness of the room. They'd kept the lights off for ambiance, and everything feels muted, the rain drowning out all other sound. It's just them in this square room, the rain making an island of them.

“Shut up,” Ten mutters as Johnny shifts subtly, opening his side up for Ten to press against, an invitation. " _You're_  the self-professed romantic.”

“Sure, in the _real_ world.”

“Life imitates art, or vice versa. Or both,” Ten stutters, trying to make his point.

Johnny laughs and Ten takes his revenge by diving nose-first into Johnny's ribcage to hide his face and press his teeth into the meat of Johnny's side.

The other shrieks, still laughing. “Did you just bite me?” He raises his arm and loops it around Ten's shoulders, letting him readjust and settle against him.

“I couldn't resist,” Ten says mulishly.

“It's cool; we're not here to kinkshame.”

“It's not a kink!”

“Are you sure?” Johnny asks, pouting a little bit. Their faces are so close, Johnny's a little above Ten's, that if either of them moved a centimeter, they'd be kissing. Ten suddenly pictures them moving toward each other at the same time, how their teeth would clash against each other. He giggles. Johnny continues, “Because I'll be honest. That was kinda hot?”

Cheek nestled in the dip between Johnny's neck and shoulder, Ten says in a low voice, “We can certainly talk about that.”

.

By the time they've started watching the fourth episode of a drama they chose to start at random, Ten is draped over Johnny's lap, body warm and soft, his head pillowed on Johnny's thighs. Fingers card through his hair rhythmically, the sensation making his scalp tingle. He blinks sleepily, barely following the plot and dialogue on the small screen in front of them, and yawns.

“Bored?” Johnny asks quietly.

“No,” Ten says, because he isn’t, not really. It’s just so nice laying here in Johnny’s lap, nestled under a thin throw blanket, Johnny’s fingers at his scalp, his thumb resting against Ten’s cheek. He turns slightly, and touches his lips to the whirled pad of Johnny’s thumb, eyelashes fluttering. When he shifts his gaze up, he can see how Johnny’s eyes go dark with want.

It feels so good to be wanted.

“Johnny?” Ten whispers, Johnny's thumb still pressed against his bottom lip.

“Yes, Ten?” His voice is low and rough. The corner of Johnny's mouth twitches.

“Kiss me?”

“Come up here then.”

Heat unfurls within him like a flower taking root, and Ten surges up to meet Johnny's lips, the force of the kiss knocking Johnny’s glasses askew. His lips part and Johnny’s licks into him with his tongue, his breath hot. Ten groans as the kiss deepens and Johnny tries to move him properly onto his lap. Then, Ten shifts to straddle him, hands reaching up to cup Johnny’s face and breathing in deep through his nose.

Cloves. Citrus. Johnny’s own brand of musk. The rain pelts the window in waves and Ten feels like he’s drowning. Johnny’s lips are a brand, and he marks the sharp edge of Ten’s jaw, and the column of his throat, and the ridge of his collarbone. His big hands sneak under the bottom hem of Ten’s tank, his warm palms smoothing over the soft muscle of Ten’s belly. Higher and higher his hands search as Ten spreads his thighs wider across the expanse of Johnny’s lap. They press closer. They kiss. They breathe. Johnny’s thumb brushes over the tight peak of Ten’s nipple, and Ten gasps against the other boy’s mouth, back curving slightly to push himself harder against Johnny’s thumb.

“You like that?” Johnny asks, his voice in ruins. Ten’s eyelids flutter open. Johnny is looking at him with glittering eyes, the way Ten’s seen him look at photographs of the places and things he loves.

Ten gasps again when Johnny brushes his thumb over his nipple a second time, then a third. His chest compresses; he can’t take in enough air. The span of Johnny’s hand fits over his entire rib cage, and his heart flutters inside of him as though protesting the added constraint, but he doesn’t want Johnny to stop.

“Yeah,” Ten whispers, closing his eyes again. He rocks against him, pushing their hips together, and relishes the way Johnny’s breath stutters, the low groan that escapes from between his lips. He wishes Johnny could cup his hands and Ten could fit inside of his palms. They fit together so perfectly, and he thinks he could never grow tired of this, of Johnny’s hands, the soft noises he makes when Ten rocks against him, the taste of his lips. He imagines a world where Johnny is his.

A world where Johnny’s timer is like Ten’s. Would things have been easier if Johnny were a Zero, too? Would he be the same, sweet boy? Ten shudders in Johnny’s lap, a chill coming over him.

“Hey,” Johnny says, pulling back. Ten whimpers, chasing his lips. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He puts his hands on Ten’s shoulders and pushes gently, separating them slightly. His eyes widen behind his frames.

“Nothing.” Ten is alarmed to find his voice shaky and thick, his cheeks wet. He rubs at the soft skin underneath his eyes with the backs of his hands. He takes a few deep, long breaths even though it feels like his lungs have shrunken to the size of peas. “I’m fine. _I'm fine."_

“Is it too much? Too fast?” Johnny asks, cupping Ten’s face now, holding him as carefully as porcelain.

“No?” Ten says, feeling something like hysteria bubble up inside of him. Why the hell is he _crying?_  He sniffs and rubs at his eyes again, and lets himself fall against Johnny’s chest, ashamed.

“It’s okay, baby,” Johnny says. His arms encircle Ten’s waist entirely, wrists crossed against the small of Ten's back. He holds him there, close and still. “It’s okay. Maybe it’s too much. We’re roommates, after all. We have to be, like, extra respectful of when we need space and stuff. Right? Like sometimes, maybe we'll just need to be roommates, and not be dating.”

Ten allows himself to take another breath. It steadies him. Against his chest, he can feel the way Johnny’s heart is beating. He says quietly, “I'll tell you if it ever gets to be too much, Johnny.”

“How? Maybe we should have a code word.”

Ten pushes himself up higher, palms against Johnny’s chest, to see the boy grinning like a cat that's caught a mouse, thinking himself clever.

“Like a safe word?” Ten says hesitantly, licking his lips. He tastes salt.

“Yeah,” Johnny breathes. His hands fall to Ten's hips. “Like that.”

“Okay,” Ten says. He thinks, mouth pinching and bridge of his nose creasing. “How about ‘Rocky Road’?”

Johnny purses his lips, not quite frowning. Ten watches the realization dawn behind his eyes. “That was like, the first time we hung out. You got the ice cream. Rocky Roadhouse, right?”

He’d remembered that tiny detail about that first day. Knowing this makes Ten feel a hundred times lighter, a hundred times more frazzled, like a balloon getting buffeted about in the wind. Ten tries to keep his voice steady, to keep the hope out of it, when he says, “Yeah, but saying Rocky Roadhouse sounds ridiculous. And I’m definitely not using _Salty Pimp_ as a safe word.”

Johnny grins with his tongue between his teeth, the picture of mischief. “What if _I_ want to use it as _my_ safe word?”

“Well, that’s on you,” Ten says, rolling his eyes.

They laugh, the tension evaporating between them. Ten feels silly to have cried, and now his eyes and cheeks are dry and Johnny’s hands are still on his hips, squeezing every once in a while, kneading the muscle there.

The smaller boy leans closer. “Sorry -- Can we go again?” Ten asks, and Johnny smiles and nods.

They kiss until their lips are bruised and red, Johnny’s fingers sparking heat across Ten’s skin wherever he touches, and Ten finds himself wishing he could burn like this forever.

.


	10. Chapter 10

On Saturday they go to Central Park with Yuta and Sicheng on what Sicheng declares is definitely not a double date, it’s just that Minghao and Jun are busy going to some touristy thing all day and Lucas is catching up with friends from Hong Kong and the weather is too perfect for a picnic to waste.

“A double date!” Yuta happily shouts when they see each other on the corner of 60th and Broadway, by one of the grand entrances to the park. He’s carrying a large canvas bag with the words Dean & Deluca printed in green across the front. “We bought meats! And cheeses! And grapes! The lady at the deli said this is normal picnic stuff for Americans, though I don’t know how they can just eat like this and be full.”

“I don’t know what kind of picnics they’re talking about,” Johnny says, peering into the bag and scowling a bit. “Where are the hot dogs?”

Yuta says something crude about the hot dogs being something they bring with them everywhere, and that’s how he and Johnny hit it off immediately, bumping fists and waggling their fingers in a handshake like they’ve known each other for years.

“Our boyfriends are so dumb,” Sicheng says sadly, looping his arm around Ten’s shoulders.

“At least Yuta carries your stuff for you.”

“Not true,” Sicheng huffs. “I am carrying this bottle of wine.” He lifts the plastic bag he’s holding as evidence. “We have to drink in secret, though. Something about open container laws.”

“Johnny brought frisbees,” Ten says. “Like three of them. In different sizes, for some reason. I don’t know why he thinks I’m going to play catch with him like he’s some dog.”

Sicheng laughs as they head into the park past the large, ornate fountain marking the entrance. Families sit around the edge of the fountain, children dipping their hands and feet into the cool waters. The sky above is a clear, true blue, cloudless and bright. They wander the crowded footpaths in search of a patch of grass under shade that isn’t yet occupied, but the park is nearly saturated with families and couples and friends who all had the same idea they did. Deeper and deeper into the park they go, getting lost on the winding paths and trails. Johnny and Yuta walk ahead of them, carrying the food and the picnic blanket and the frisbees, chattering on about who-knows-what between them, and Ten’s chest cavity swells with pride and admiration, watching Johnny with Yuta. He’s just so warm and kind and approachable and watching him smile and joke and connect with someone he's just met so quickly makes Ten feel lucky that Johnny even looks at him.

“You’ve got that silly smile on your face again,” Sicheng says beside him, bumping Ten’s shoulder with his. “Such a sap.”

“Do not,” Ten says softly, knowing he does. 

“Deny all you want. We know the truth. How long has it been now?”

"Couple weeks," Ten answers. "But it feels like I've know him...forever." His chest tightens at the thought.  “How are things with Yuta?” Ten asks as a diversion tactic but also because he’s genuinely curious. Sicheng hasn’t said much about Yuta outside of the time they spend together during program, and often during program their schedules are so busy that it’s hard to spare even one word that isn’t about choreography or theory or music. They still do their partner stretches with each other in the mornings, but it's hard to talk about anything of substance before 9AM. Ten asked once why Yuta doesn't join them, and Sicheng answered that Yuta likes to go jogging before program starts to wake and warm up, which Ten thinks may be Yuta's only visible flaw so far. 

Sicheng’s smile flits across his face before settling on his lips, the feeling behind his expression deeper than usual, like happiness is being etched into his skin. Engraved. He says, “Good. Really, really good.”

He doesn't really have to say more. Ten knows how it goes. They’re soulmates after all. 

They’re meant for each other.

.

Frisbee is not really Ten’s thing. After many failed attempts at throwing the frisbees around with Johnny and Yuta and Sicheng and getting it stuck in a tree, accidentally spiking it into the middle of another nice family’s picnic, and nearly slicing Yuta’s head off with a particularly aggressive throw, among other things, Johnny suggests that he and Ten sit and have a nice cuddle under the shade instead, and Ten obliges. They watch Yuta and Sicheng play around with the frisbee for a while, and the next thing Ten knows, he’s waking up with his cheek squished against Johnny’s chest.

He squints past the rise and fall of Johnny’s rib cage to find Sicheng and Yuta still playing around in the sun; it looks like Yuta is trying to teach Sicheng a couple of impressive b-boy moves. They laugh and tumble around on the field, getting grass stains on their knees and elbows and shirts, sunlight glancing off their skin. Ten thinks he's never seen such a huge smile on Sicheng's face as when Yuta puts it there. Sure, Sicheng has fun with his friends, but he's a little more reserved than most, and wears a hard shell around himself more often than not. It's nice to see him free like this, laughing without restraint.

“Wanna get up?” Johnny says, the rumbling sound of his voice coming from somewhere deep inside of his chest. He shifts a little, pushing his sunglasses up to rest over the crown of his head. Being that they’re horizontal, though, the frames simply fall off to the blanket behind him.

“Not really.” Ten stretches out his cramped legs and mewls a little at the release of his joints before turning over and throwing his arm across Johnny’s stomach. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, though.”

“Sunlight and wine,” Johnny says. “A fatal nap combination.”

“‘s’nice,” Ten slurs.

“You’re nice.”

Ten trails his hand up Johnny’s chest until he reaches the collar of his shirt, then tugs it down with his fingers. He presses his lips against the skin that he bares. There is a word he wants to say, to use, but he won’t let it past the walls of his throat. It’s too soon, and it’s not soon enough. Five weeks will pass by in a blink, and Ten imagines it like he’s clicking through still life photos in a slide show. Here, their trip to Target. Here, Johnny’s hand trailing over a field of lavender flowers. Here, their first kiss. Here, Johnny and Ten in bed the day the streets flooded. Ten’s tears. The park. The sun. A merry-go-round of dates, snapshots in time. And then, finally, a flash of zeros. Johnny’s smile, his hand through his hair, the stubble on his chin. Cupid’s bow lips Ten will probably never kiss again.

“What do you think your soulmate is like?” Ten whispers, tracing the tip of his finger over the spot he kissed. Drawing hearts. 

“This again?” Johnny sighs. “I don’t know. They’ll be like you. Or they’ll be the total opposite to you.”

“Well, which is it?”

“How should I know?” Johnny sits up, bringing Ten up with him. His hair is kind of wild on one side of his head, and Ten immediately reaches out to fix it with his fingers. Johnny chuckles at the petting, allowing it, only ducking away when Ten licks his fingers and brings them back to his hair. “I don’t think so, dude.”

“You look crazy,  _ dude _ ,” Ten says.

Johnny catches Ten’s wrist as it nears him again, gently, his thumb pressed against the pulse nestled over thin bones. “I’m not out here trying to impress anyone but you.”

Ten flushes with an embarrassed squawk. “How can you just say things like that with a straight face? I seriously don’t get it.”

“But you love it. You love me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ten says, before realizing what he’s agreed to and freezing up like someone’s just put an ice cube down the back of his shirt.

Johnny’s smile is 100% smug and self-satisfied. “Woah. You  _ love  _ me?”

“I didn’t say that!” Ten says hotly.

“You totally love me.”

“Don’t be an ass about it, Johnny!”

“You love me. With your whole heart. You’d part the seas for me. If we went hiking and met a bear in the woods, you’d fight it for me. Or a shark. You’d fight a shark for me.”

“Who says we’re going hiking?”

“You’d eat fruit salad for me!” Johnny finishes, and Ten growls and tackles him back onto the ground. Johnny lands on his back with a thud, exhaling suddenly as the wind is knocked out of him, but he’s laughing as Ten tries to wrestle his hands above his head.

“You went too far!” Ten shouts like a war cry.

“Have mercy!” Johnny calls, wiggling and flopping underneath Ten like a fish on land. He could easily roll Ten over and be done with it, but he’s got this big goofy smile on his face and he lifts his arms above his head when Ten moves him and Ten leans down to kiss him full on the lips, mid-cackle and all. Johnny stills and groans, licking his tongue into Ten’s mouth and going slack underneath him. Aware they’re in public, Ten pulls away when his lips start to feel puffy, and Johnny breathes, “Yeah. Love you, too.”

Ten’s heart is going to explode out of his chest. He stares and stares and stares and Johnny doesn’t blink, just licks his lips and takes a breath and starts to say it again, but Ten leans down to cut him off, sealing his lips over his. He thinks he'll die on the spot if he hears it again.

A wolf whistle pierces the air. “Get a room,” Yuta says, plopping down onto the blanket next to them. “We’re in public.”

Johnny’s hand flops around on the blanket beside him until it makes contact with an empty plastic cup that once held the wine they were drinking. He chucks it in Yuta’s general direction, and it bounces off the other boy's head.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've definitely past the mid-point now. probably around 4-6 chapters left??? thanks for sticking with this if you've made it this far <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i, uh, added a tag >.>

Yuta and Sicheng call it a day after another hour at the park. Sicheng’s basically a limp noodle in Yuta’s lap by now, grass stains on his knees and a sleepy smile spread lazily across his face. “You coming with?” Yuta asks Johnny and Ten, who both help Yuta stuff the big picnic blanket back into the bag Yuta brought for it.

Johnny shares a look with Ten and grins. “Nah. The day’s not over yet.”

Ten smiles back. “What do you want to do?”

“Let’s just wander,” Johnny says, which is such a Johnny thing to say that Ten snorts. Of course Johnny would want to spend the golden hours of summer dusk, the sky all warm colors, wandering around the city as the shadows lengthen. Probably, he’ll want to take pictures. Probably, Ten will be in most of them.

“Okay,” Ten agrees, “but only if you promise to feed me.”

“We literally just finished all of our grapes,” Johnny says seriously as Yuta lets a tired Sicheng lean against his shoulder and hip.

“ _ You _ did,” Ten says. “Mostly all I had was wine.”

“Poor thing.” Done helping Yuta with the bag, Johnny comes closer and wraps his arm around Ten’s waist, pulling him close and tucking him against his body. He drops a quick kiss to the top of Ten’s head and Ten squeaks in surprise. “You must be famished. And drunk.”

Ten throws his head back and laughs, only for the noise to be muffled when Johnny kisses him on the lips. “Not drunk,” Ten mumbles against Johnny’s heart-shaped pucker. Yuta makes gagging noises behind them, then curses in Japanese when Sicheng smacks his arm to make him stop. “Rosy,” Ten says, only stumbling a little bit when Johnny squeezes him closer. “You know the feeling? Like when everything is clouds.”

“Everything is clouds,” Johnny repeats in a teasing whisper, yet somehow when he says it, it sounds like the most romantic thing in the world. He holds all of Ten in his gaze. Ten feels stupidly charmed by the way Johnny is looking down at him, his heart fluttering in his chest. The leaves in the branches overhead rustle against each other in a gentle breeze, dappling shadows over their faces. Ten sags against Johnny and marvels at how the lines of their bodies fit against each other, mold to each other, like they could lock each other in place.

“Uh, so we’re gonna go?” Yuta asks the group. He’s holding Sicheng’s hand and the bag is slung over his other shoulder. “Have fun. Don’t get arrested for public indecency.” Sicheng actually giggles at that, laughter bubbling out of his mouth, and Yuta’s head whips around to shoot the stars in his eyes at his boyfriend. “You! Are adorable. Come on, let’s get out of here. Bye, Johnny. Bye, Ten!”

“Bye,” Sicheng comes forward to give them both hugs, smiling wide and pretty. “Ten, see you tomorrow?”

Ten hugs his friend and nods. “Yeah, definitely.”

As they leave, Ten can almost see the way their souls shimmer between them like a spider’s web, ever connected and complicated and strong. But maybe it’s also just a trick of the light.

“What’s tomorrow?” Johnny asks.

Ten turns back to him. “Brunch.”

“Am I invited?”

“Absolutely not,” Ten says, pretending to pick dirt and lint from Johnny’s top. Under the thick strap of his cotton tank, Ten can see the edge of Johnny’s tan line from spending hours in the sun, and he cups his palm over the roundest part of Johnny’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb over it as though he could blur the line under the whirl of his fingerprint. “Sicheng and me and Lucas are going to talk about you and Yuta.”

“Ah, of course. I fully support that.”

“Can you, like, stop being so perfect for a second?”

“Perfect?”

“You’re handsome, you’re kind. You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re sensitive. You’re considerate…”

“Which of those things do you want me not to be?”

Johnny’s smirk is so delicious that when Ten kisses him, he imagines he can taste chocolate.

.

Hours later, they’re sitting at a tiny, wobbly table squashed into the corner of an izakaya downtown on St. Marks street, and Johnny is showing Ten the photographs he took of their afternoon in the sun. 

“That one’s nice,” Ten says, pointing at the photo before Johnny can click past it, and the other boy pauses on the photo. It’s one Johnny must have taken when they were all playing frisbee together, right after Ten nearly decapitated Yuta with his toss. He and Sicheng and Yuta are all laughing, the sun bright and warm and illuminating the crowns of their heads. “How’d you get it? You were playing with us.”

“I’m a photo ninja,” Johnny says without any irony.

Ten pinches his cheek and Johnny hums happily at the touch. “You’re a strange one.”

The waiter returns with a pitcher of light Japanese beer and plops it down in the center of the table, along with two cups. Another waiter slides in behind him and smoothly plates their orders of salty edamame, pan-fried gyoza, and kara-age to share. Ten’s mouth waters at the food. He’d nibbled on some carrots during their picnic and had approximately one grape to try and didn’t feel like eating much else, and the wine had gone pretty much straight to his head. When the waiters leave them, Johnny quickly breaks apart his chopsticks and rubs them together between his hands briskly, before plucking one of the pieces of fried chicken and putting it on Ten’s small plate.

“This time,” Johnny says. “Actually eat?”

“I eat,” Ten pouts.

“Not nearly enough.” Johnny raises an eyebrow, and Ten’s stomach gurgles. The older boy picks more chicken and gyoza off the plates between them and puts them on Ten’s.

“I’m just watching my weight.”

“Yeah, that explains your diet of ice cream and wine.”

Ten huffs, pushing the chicken around on his plate. He knows it’s coming from a good place, but he kind of hates it when people talk about his eating habits. He knows he’s picky and he knows he skips meals sometimes, but usually it’s because he just can’t quit practicing something until he gets it right, be it when he dances, or something else. It’s not intentional. At least, he doesn’t think it is. He wriggles a little in his seat as though trying to shake the uncomfortable weight of Johnny’s words from him. “You know, I read somewhere that you can survive on a diet of milk and potatoes.”

“Are you suggesting we get frostees and fries after this?” Johnny grins, and just like that, the heaviness in the air dissipates. 

Ten says, “If we’re still awake in three hours, I’ll be very impressed.”

“I can think of some things we could do to keep ourselves busy,” Johnny offers, quirking his eyebrows to make sure Ten understands the innuendo. He does. The izakaya’s walls are plastered with pornographic art done in the block printing style, this overlaid by posters from the 80s advertising call girls and shows that make Ten think of the Power Rangers, and he can’t help but vividly picture himself and Johnny in some of the scenes before his eyes.

“Hm,” Ten hums, shifting forward and hooking his ankles around Johnny’s underneath the table. His hand finds Johnny’s above it. He strokes his pointer finger over the back of Johnny’s hand, from his wrist to the tip of his longest finger. “Like what?”

Johnny laughs. “Eat first, then we’ll talk.”

Ten pouts again, sitting back. He busies himself by pouring them two glasses of beer, purposefully giving Johnny more of a foam head in his glass. “Whoops,” he says, when he pushes the glass over. “Too much head?”

Johnny's eyes glitter in mirth. “Is there such a thing?”

Ten licks his lips. “Probably,” he says, before raising the glass to his lips and taking a long pull. He notices the way Johnny’s eyes flick to the bobbing of his throat and feels a little pearl of warmth form in his belly that has nothing to do with the alcohol. 

After the chicken and the gyoza, they order a fried rice to share and polish off the pitcher of beer between them. By now, Ten’s belly is pleasantly full and his head is in the clouds again. He knows his cheeks are rosy and that he’s drunk by how easily he laughs at every little thing Johnny says. Things feel good. He feels good. He picks at the fried rice when it comes, and Johnny eats most of it, and their ankles knock against each other under the table. 

“I wish we’d met last summer when I was here,” Ten says, sighing a little and trying to ignore how his elbow slips off the table accidentally. If Johnny notices, he doesn’t say anything. “We could have been doing this then.”

“You were here last summer?” Johnny asks, eyes widening.

Ten nods, the room spinning slightly. “Yeah, with Kun.”

“Who’s Kun?” 

“Oh,” Ten gasps, realizing what he’s said and sitting up a little straighter. Thinking of Kun makes it feel like there’s a fist around his heart, squeezing, playing with the muscle. He remembers the few blissful weeks he’d spent with Kun holed up in the West Village, all the city their playground. Kun’s aunt had been spending the summer in Shanghai, so she’d left her apartment and her cat to them to “watch”. They’d slept in her queen-sized bed together, side by side like how they used to when they were kids, and some mornings Ten would wake up to find Kun curled against his back, fists loosely clutching at the back of Ten’s shirt. Other mornings it would be the other way around. They’d get carded at the bars and clubs around the city but Kun’s aunt knew people who’d look the other way for a couple of nights, and she knew what restaurants they should eat at, and how to squeeze their names onto the reservations lists, and she knew how to get box seats at the shows Kun and Ten wanted to watch. It was a dream vacation. All except for the ticking time bomb on Kun’s wrist.

“Ten?” Johnny asks, reaching forward to take Ten’s hand now. He rubs his thumb over Ten’s palm, and Ten curls his fingers against his in a weak hold.

“He’s my best friend,” Ten whispers, sniffling a little. 

“Yeah? I don’t think you’ve mentioned him before. What’s he like? What did you do last summer?” There’s pure curiosity, gentle and sweet, in Johnny’s voice. 

“We, uh,” Ten starts, the fist around his heart contracting, “we wanted to get away. Kun’s timer was running down. He has an aunt in the city and we stayed at her place. I don’t know, we ate good food, partied, danced. It was fun.”

“Then why do you look so beat up about it?” Johnny asks. He squeezes Ten’s hand as though to remind him he’s there. “Did something happen to him?”

A bitter laugh chokes out of Ten’s throat before he can stop it. “Yeah, something did. He met his soulmate.” 

Johnny frowns and Ten can’t find it in himself to look into his eyes, ashamed of the burning jealousy he still feels. He wishes it didn’t hurt so much, that he could just move past it. Somewhere deep, deep down, he’s happy for Kun, for finding happiness and the person he’ll spend the rest of his life with. But he also can’t help but feel like he’s been left behind and forgotten. Within one week of landing back in Bangkok after their vacation in New York, Kun had met his forever person just like the timer on his wrist had told him he would, but he'd promised they’d still be friends. _Of course_ they’d still be friends. But that promise had proved harder and harder to keep as the weeks passed. Then, Kun moved back to his hometown in the Fuzhou province with his soulmate and more promises to keep in touch. But the last time they even texted was months ago. 

“It’s like I don’t exist anymore to him,” Ten says into his empty glass.

Johnny doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Ten suddenly wishes he could rewind the last couple of minutes of the evening and forget he’d shared anything at all. He feels like he’s ripped his own heart, still beating, out of his chest and laid it dripping and ruined in front of Johnny to examine and pick over like a scavenger. And then Johnny says, “That’s pretty shitty, Ten.”

Ten’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. Maybe both. He nods, agreeing with the other boy, and as he does so his body makes the decision for him. Tears spring into his eyes, the hole left behind by Kun’s absence in his chest like a gaping wound. On some days it still feels as fresh as if it had just happened yesterday, but Ten knows in reality it had been a slow thing, a gradual ripping away, like a canyon being carved out by a river. 

“I miss him a lot,” Ten admits, ducking his face and holding his hands over his eyes to hide himself from view. The izakaya is brightly lit, and the feeling like everyone is looking at him is almost too much for him to take.

“Hey, hey,” Johnny coos softly. His fingers card through Ten’s hair, brushing it back. “Yeah, I’m sure you do. Here, drink this.”

It’s a glass of water with a straw in it. Ten takes the straw between his lips and sips, the action distracting him from his shuddering breaths and tears. The cool liquid going down his throat helps to calm him a little. After a few sips, he feels less shaky, steady enough to say, “I'm sorry I cry so much in front of you.” 

Johnny sighs. “It’s alright, Ten. Sometimes you just need to. Do you want to get out of here? Tell me more about how shitty he is?”

Ten coughs around the straw, a smile fighting its way back onto his lips. He shakes his head. “I want to get out of here, though,” he says.

“Alright,” Johnny says. “Whatever you want.”

.

They wander the Village for a while, pinkies linked. Packs of friends scour the blocks for bars and restaurants that don’t have exorbitant wait times for seating, and all around them, night descends like a delicately placed shroud around their shoulders. Johnny’s quiet, sensing Ten’s need to regroup, and Ten’s content to hug Johnny’s arm to himself as they walk slowly in no direction. They pass flashing signs for clubs and swells of conversation when they overtake the restaurants and bars with outdoor seating, and then they come across a place playing salsa music, and through the big windows in front Ten can see pairs of people dancing and twirling around each other on the tiny floor in front of the bar.

Johnny’s elbow nudges him, and Ten’s eyes snap up to the taller boy’s face. He’s grinning. “You wanna dance?” 

Ten says, “I’m not very good…”

“Bullshit,” Johnny says, already dragging Ten closer to the door. “I bet you’re a world class salsa dancer.”

“It's not what I'm specializing in. I’ve only taken a couple of lessons!” Ten admits, letting himself be dragged. There’s no cover for the bar, but the person at the door holds out a stamp and presses a star onto the backs of their hands. 

Inside, the music is loud, and the laughter is almost louder. A woman spins with her partner very close to the entrance and nearly takes Johnny’s eye out with a flick of her hand, an artful expression to end her spin, and Ten laughs when Johnny ducks belatedly. He doesn’t laugh for long, though, because Johnny quickly takes both of Ten’s hands into his and leads him out onto the little dance floor, eyes intent and smile contagious.

“You dance?” Ten shouts incredulously over the music as Johnny’s feet move to the beat, back and forth, back and forth. The gentle push of Johnny’s hands to guide him to the steps makes Ten giggle.

“High school ballroom dance during gym class, baby,” Johnny says proudly, attempting very poorly to guide Ten into a spin. Ten knocks against his chest instead, and they almost topple over the couple next to them on the floor. “Sorry, I’m so sorry,” Johnny says to the pair, shaking his head exaggeratedly and pointing at Ten. “Two left feet, this guy.”

Ten rolls his eyes and takes Johnny by the hips, which makes the taller boy go still, attention now laser-focused on Ten. “I’ll lead,” Ten says. “You follow.”

So they switch roles, and Ten leads, and Johnny follows. Ten guides Johnny with a tap of his hand, a slight weight against his wrist, a palm against the small of his back. Even though Johnny is so much taller than he is, it works. That is, until Ten releases Johnny for a spin and Johnny does it with relish, coming back to him with arms spread wide and crashing against Ten in a bone-crushing hug.

“Oof! You big bear,” Ten complains, nevertheless clutching at Johnny’s back and holding on. 

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” Johnny says with a snicker. “Want to get a drink?”

He starts to pull away and Ten scrambles to keep him close, to hug him closer. Johnny stills, and lets himself be held. “No,” Ten says against Johnny’s neck. “This is nice. Let’s just -- stay like this, for a while.”

“Alright,” Johnny says. He places a kiss to the top of Ten’s head. “Whatever you want.”

.

They stay for a couple of songs. When Ten feels his eyes start to close for longer and longer moments, and Johnny yawns above him, he guides them toward the exit, and they leave. The sky above them is pitch black, starless and cloudless. He holds Johnny’s hand and brushes his thumb over the metal timer around his wrist.

“Doyoung and Taeyong,” Johnny starts sleepily after a couple of blocks, stifling another yawn as they round the corner to the entrance of their dorm by Washington Square Park. “They want to do something together. Maybe sometime this week? You in?”

Ten hums in affirmation. At this point, he’s met Doyoung a couple of times, since Johnny and Doyoung sometimes work together on projects at the dorm, but he’s never met Taeyong. He wonders what Doyoung’s soulmate will be like. “Are they still honeymooning?” Ten asks. A blast of chilled air greets them once they’re inside their building.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Johnny laughs, the sound husky and low. “They think the sun shines out of each other’s asses.”

“Sicheng is like that with Yuta, too,” Ten says, “but he'd never let Yuta know it.”

“They seemed pretty happy today, though.”

Ten nods, agreeing. “I think they are. Honestly, I think, like, Yuta likes Sicheng when he’s being a bit mean. Not like really mean. But like, acting frosty?”

“I get what you mean.”

“They’re soulmates, so.” Ten shrugs.

Johnny squeezes his hand. “You know, my parents are soulmates, too? But they hardly ever talk to each other anymore.” He trails off in thought, and Ten looks at him sharply. The elevator comes and they get in.

“They’re not together?”

Johnny says, “Oh no. They’re together.” He laughs and it’s a bitter, heart-breaking kind of laugh, and Ten hates it. Hates the sound of it, how it got there. He pulls Johnny closer to him until they’re hip-to-hip inside the small elevator car. “They just aren’t happy together anymore. They don’t  _ work  _ together. But they stay together because...because they think they have to? I don’t know. I honestly don’t get it.”

“Johnny…”

“Sorry, that’s probably the last thing you want to hear.”

“What do you mean?”

Johnny’s eyebrows dip as he purses his lips, considering Ten like he’s a specimen under a microscope and not like he’s his boyfriend. “You’ve got this...idealism about you when it comes to soulmates. You’re obsessed.”

“I’m not _obsessed_ ,” Ten says hotly just as the elevator doors open. They walk out onto their floor and head to their room.

“Maybe that’s too strong a word,” Johnny amends quietly. “You’re a believer.”

“And you’re not,” Ten finishes for him.

Johnny lets the silence spread between them, thin and fragile as rice paper. The door stands before them. Ten opens it.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Ten whispers into the dark. “When did you...when did it…”

“Fall apart?” Johnny asks. He hums a little, maneuvering around the room, taking off his shoes, as Ten does the same. “When I got to college. It was like they’d pretended for as long as they could. Kept up a front for me just until I could get to school. And then it was over. For winter break when I got back, they were sleeping in different rooms. They didn’t even want to eat together.”

Ten pulls Johnny to the edge of his mattress. He sits, and pats the spot next to him for Johnny to take, which he does. “Is that why you don’t believe in soulmates?” Ten asks.

“It’s not just that they drifted apart,” Johnny says, sighing. He curls his arm around Ten’s narrow waist and leans back, and they both fall to the bed together. “They pretended to be happy for years, all so that they could live up to this ideal that, honestly, I don’t know if it even truly exists. The soulmate thing ends up hurting so many people. Like you. It hurts you.”

Ten turns to him. Their faces are close. He trails his fingertips over Johnny’s jawline, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. “But I’m fine,” Ten lies. 

Johnny breathes out through his nose like a bull. There’s a little crease forming in between his eyebrows, and Ten presses the pad of his pointer finger against it, smoothing it out. Then he places his finger against Johnny’s lips. “I wish we could be together without you worrying about how it could all end,” Johnny whispers.

Ten closes his eyes. He can’t bear to look at Johnny when Johnny’s looking at him like that, all the love in his eyes just for him. Johnny is a fire Ten has gotten too close to. He’d wanted to warm his hands for a while, and thought he’d be able to keep himself from touching, but Johnny’s irresistible. Ten’s already thrust his hands into the flames. “I’m sorry,” he says, and closes the distance between them to kiss him.

Johnny’s lips burn against him, the touch searing. His fingertips press into the fleshy part of Ten’s hips, and Ten finds himself hoping that in the morning there will be bruises. Proof of this moment, that they will have existed. He opens his mouth and lets Johnny inside, and Johnny kisses Ten slow and languid and tender, thorough and deep. His breath hitches when Johnny pushes at his hips, rolling him onto his back completely and climbing over him, caging Ten in with his arms. His hands, his too-hot fingers, seek Ten’s skin under his shirt, push the fabric up to expose Ten’s belly, and then Ten’s arching his back and the shirt is coming off.

Johnny swipes his own shirt off in one fluid motion, tossing the clothes to the floor, before returning to hover over Ten, eyes dark and full of promise. “You’re so pretty, Ten,” Johnny says as he rakes his gaze over Ten’s body, the gravel in his voice making the smaller boy tremble underneath him. He ducks down to work his mouth over Ten’s throat, the column of his neck, and Ten moans, hips bucking, when Johnny bites down over his collarbone.

“Ah!” Ten cries out breathily. His hands fall to Johnny’s hair, clenching when Johnny bites at his pec. “Johnny--!”

Johnny rises from him with a smirk on his red, puffy lips. “Yes?” 

“Come here,” Ten orders, pushing himself up onto his elbows and then to sitting. He reaches for the hem of Johnny’s pants and shoots him a questioning look. Johnny nods, and Ten unbuttons the fly of Johnny’s shorts. “Get out of these,” he says next, quickly growing impatient when he unzips Johnny’s shorts and tries to rip them off his legs, only to find his progress thwarted by Johnny’s bulging thighs. “You’re too big,” Ten whines.

“Am I?” Johnny teases, and Ten smacks the top of his thigh with a palm. 

“Take off your shorts!”

Johnny laughs, rolling back slightly and wriggling out of his shorts before tossing these into the growing pile of clothes on the floor also. “Now, you.”

Ten slips out of his shorts with ease, kicking them to the floor from his ankles. He reaches for his own briefs but Johnny’s suddenly there, between Ten’s knees, his hand over Ten’s at the elastic circling his hips. 

“I’ll do this,” Johnny says lowly, and Ten shudders, dick twitching under the fabric. Johnny slowly drags his waistband down, down, down, watching Ten’s face the whole time, and somehow that makes it even more embarrassing and hot, that Johnny’s paying attention to the flush of his cheeks and quickening breaths instead of his dick curled against his belly, glistening at the tip. “You’re so fucking pretty,” Johnny repeats, leaning over Ten to reach for the drawer of his nightstand. He takes out a little bottle of lube.

“Hnng,” Ten mumbles. His body is blushing all over as he spreads his knees wider to accommodate Johnny’s hips when Johnny presses himself against him, his covered dick rubbing against Ten’s and making Ten’s whole body twitch. His hands come up to scrabble at Johnny’s shoulders, holding on tightly. “Touch me,” he demands.

Johnny’s returning grin is playful. “Whatever you want,” he says, and he uncaps the lube and squeezes a dollop into his own palm, and then he wraps his palm around Ten’s dick. It’s cold at first, and Ten curses, but the lube quickly warms, and Johnny’s fist is curled loose and wet around him, working over him in circular motions, up and down. His thumb plays with the head of his cock and Ten’s knees jump inward, thighs trying to snap closed as a moan escapes his throat, but Johnny is still between his legs and so his thighs squeeze around him instead. “You like that?” Johnny asks, teasing and sweet, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. He presses down on Ten’s hip with his other hand to keep him from squirming too much, and Ten actually whines, high pitched and mewling. 

Ten hooks his arm around Johnny’s neck to bring him close again, kisses him with force as the pace of Johnny’s hand around him increases, the slick slide of his palm hot and perfect. “You, too,” Ten says when he can get a breath and word in between kisses.

Johnny stops and pulls away for a moment, and when he returns, lips locked against Ten’s throat, Ten feels him against him. He looks down to watch Johnny line his dick up with Ten’s and take them both into his hand. Johnny’s bigger than him, his dick blushing darker than Ten’s, and Ten can’t help himself from snaking his own hand between their bodies to try to fit his fingers around them both. He can’t close his fist, but he can work his palm around both of their cocks. 

“Fuck,” Johnny hisses, momentarily ducking his head when Ten touches him, rocking up into Ten’s hand and causing their dicks to slide against each other.

“Keep doing that,” Ten gasps.

Johnny does. He pumps his hips, fucking into Ten’s and his own hand, until he can’t quite hold himself up anymore on one elbow and drapes himself completely over Ten, letting his full weight press Ten into the mattress as he kisses Ten with an open mouth and ruts against Ten’s belly. 

“I’m gonna come like this,” Johnny groans.

“Yeah?” Ten says, breathless. “Me, too.”

Johnny bears down on him, and the pressure is exquisite. Ten feels himself starting to tremble, starting to build, and then he’s spilling all over his own belly in between them, and Johnny is sliding his dick through the mess. He tightens his hand around Johnny and feels the other stutter, and it only takes a few more thrusts before Johnny is coming, his release hot and sticky and pooling over Ten’s belly, too.

Johnny melts over him, spent. Their bodies squelch against each other, and Ten wrinkles his nose as they breathe in huge lungfuls of air, gulping it down like they’d been starved of it. They’re quiet, chests heaving. Then Johnny kisses Ten’s temple, then his cheek, then his lips. He rests his mouth against the sharp edge of Ten’s jaw.

“I love you,” Johnny whispers.

Ten’s heart flips over in his chest. He’s sure Johnny felt it. “I love you, too,” Ten whispers, the backs of his eyes heavy. 

It takes another couple of minutes for them to move. They clean each other up and climb back into the same bed, naked and dry, and fall asleep curled around each other’s bodies.

.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s morning. Johnny’s slow breaths fan across Ten’s forehead. His skin is sticky and hot wherever they touch, and Ten groans, rolling onto his back and starfishing across as much of the mattress as he can, which admittedly isn't very much, since Johnny takes up over half of the bed. The fan in the window hums, blowing warm air into the dorm room. It feels like there's a weight pressing down on his chest, but he knows it's just the oppressive heat that's making it hard to breathe.

His eyelids flutter open. He stares at the white ceiling. There’s a crack like a spider’s web running along the corner, a muted color from water staining around its edges. He tilts his head to the side, cheek pressed to the pillow, to look at Johnny, who sleeps with his lips slightly parted, his hand just below the pillow they're sharing, fingers curled. On his neck blooms a magenta mark that Ten left on him. The thought makes Ten’s toes scrunch. He wonders if Johnny would let him kiss and bite and mark him all over, spell Ten’s name into his skin. No timer in the world can leave bruises in the shape of Ten's mouth like brands.

Ten reaches out and brushes the pad of his index finger down Johnny’s open palm in a single, smooth stroke. Johnny’s fingers furl tighter reflexively, and then the other boy's smirking, waking up and looping a heavy arm across Ten’s waist, pulling Ten closer.

“Noooo,” Ten whines, skin heating again already, but Johnny is like an octopus and Ten is in his clutches. “Too hot, Johnny.”

“Just wanna kiss you,” Johnny mumbles, words a little slurred.

Ten allows himself to be kissed, first awkwardly on the nose and then on the mouth, Johnny’s hand spread wide across his hip. He turns to face him, slots his knee between Johnny’s thighs and Johnny’s hand tightens, gripping him hard with his fingers, and the groan that leaves Ten’s mouth rings out so loud that they both pause, Johnny with his eyes wide and twinkling and Ten with embarrassment flashing hot on his cheeks.

“God,” Johnny says, chest heaving with breath. The gravel in his voice makes Ten twitch between his legs. “Can I suck you off?”

“ _Yes_.” Ten nods, hands on Johnny’s shoulders pushing him down, and Johnny goes, trailing kisses down his chest and stomach, fingers digging into his skin, his flesh, as though if he could hold on hard enough, he could reach bone.

.

“You’re late,” is the first thing Sicheng says to him as Ten reaches the little table for three where he and Lucas are already sitting. The restaurant has opened its windows and doors, tables spilling out onto the sidewalk under the awning providing welcome and needed shade. Their table is just at the border of where the restaurant meets sidewalk, and as such, they are blessed to be able to bask comfortably under air conditioning.

Ten leans over to kiss Sicheng on the cheek and Sicheng only tilts his face at him, accepting the kiss as his due. Across from them, Lucas, wearing big black sunglasses that cover half of his face, grins and holds his arm out for a sideways hug.

“You okay, buddy?” Ten asks, hugging him and noticing Lucas’ slightly more disheveled appearance. He looks a bit like he just rolled out of bed, his hair still spiky. Ten gently pats the fluffed up parts down as he pulls away.

“Oh, yeah,” Lucas says. His voice is as gritty and rough as sandpaper. “Just hungover as all hell!”

“I’ll bet,” Ten quips, taking his seat. “You look like shit.”

“I’m so glad we’re friends,” Lucas sighs.

Ten laughs. “What did you end up doing yesterday?”

“Everything,” Lucas says, waving his hand in the air dramatically. “There was a gallery, I think. And a bar. A bar hidden behind a gallery? Then karaoke. Then a club? Then another club?”

“Why is everything a question?”

“I’m questioning a lot of things about last night.”

Sicheng takes a long sip from his flute of mimosa and says in a deep but sing-song voice, “Lucas met a _boy."_

Ten notices that Lucas is nursing a coffee, black. He calls the waiter over to order a mimosa for himself as well.

“A boy?” he asks Lucas, who is now blushing under his sunglasses.

“He probably doesn’t even remember me,” Lucas says quickly.

“You took like 37 selfies together and uploaded at least 3 of them last night,” Sicheng reminds him. “And you _tagged_ him. Accurately. I’m sure he remembers you.”

Ten leans forward, grin playing on his lips at watching Lucas squirm. “What’s his name? How’d you meet?”

“Clubbing,” Lucas says, the blush still burning on his face. “I challenged him to a break dance battle. His name's Mark.”

Ten’s eyes widen. “You can break dance?”

His friend grimaces and tucks his chin toward his chest. “No.”

“Could he?” Ten asks, and Sicheng laughs.

Lucas’ chin dips even lower, reminding Ten of a sullen child being told to eat everything on their plate at the dinner table. “No.”

“Amazing,” Ten says, grinning and leaning forward to clap his hand on Lucas’ meaty bicep in sympathy. “You’re definitely meant for each other.” He turns to Sicheng. “And you? What did you get up to?”

“Yuta came over,” Sicheng says. He bites into his bottom lip, lashes lowered slightly.

“Is he as loud in bed as he is in the studio?” Lucas asks. Ten squeezes Lucas’ bicep hard and Lucas yelps in surprise, pulling his shoulder away from Ten’s grip. “Jeez! I’m delicate right now.”

“Please.” Ten rolls his eyes but still kneads at the abused muscle with his fingers, apologetic. “Anyway…”

“You’re being weird,” Sicheng announces suddenly, as the waiter returns with Ten’s drink and a basket of brunch pastries -- mini scones, mini croissants, bite-sized pieces of blueberry muffin. Leaning forward with his elbows on the table, Sicheng swirls his long-stemmed flute of mimosa in one hand, giving Ten a lingering, considering look. The dancer got some color from being out yesterday under the sun, his skin now nice and golden, cheeks a little flushed probably from already getting started on the drinks. 

“Me?” Ten asks, scone already halfway to his mouth.

“Yeah.” Sicheng nods while reaching for a croissant. He flakes it with his fingers, creating a buttery mess on his appetizer plate, popping tiny pieces into his mouth in between sips of mimosa. “Did something happen with you and Johnny?”

Ten blushes. Thinking of Johnny makes him think of yesterday. Their picnic under a golden sun. Napping under the shade. Crying his eyes out at the izakaya. Salsa dancing poorly and the way Johnny’s fingers weave so perfectly with his own. The way Johnny's chest had felt against his, their heartbeats hammering against each other as they came down together. Even though it was just hours ago it feels like lifetimes, like the experience of loving Johnny is as ingrained into his being as the marrow in his bones.

“Oh my god,” Lucas says, pushing his sunglasses up to rest over the crown of his head. The bags under his eyes are deep. “You guys said it.”

“Said what?” Sicheng asks, looking between the two.

Lucas points out, “You’re fucking glowing, Ten.”

“I’m not!” Ten protests.

“He said he loves you?” Sicheng asks, eyes wide, mouth uncertain.

Ten presses his hands against his own cheeks. He nods.

“And you said it back? You?”

A pause.

Slower this time, Ten nods again.

“Oh my god, I need another mimosa,” Sicheng says. He sits up taller and raises his hand to call the waiter over again. “Quick, let’s order, and then you have to tell us everything in all the gory details.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's a short update ;A;


	13. Chapter 13

The first of August happens upon New York City with an uncharacteristic chill in the air, the sun hiding behind gray clouds and strong winds gusting over the sidewalks and parks. Ten wakes up next to Johnny, curled in the embrace of his arms, and feels grief spill over his heart like ink over paper. Yesterday, it seems to him, was the beginning of summer, and he was tiptoeing toward Johnny with all the hesitancy of a timid, careful kitten. Today, the end of summer is in sight, hurtling toward them with frightening speed.

How he wishes he hadn't been so careful, so scared. Weeks wasted in the very beginning when he could have been kissing Johnny, holding him, listening to his heartbeat with his ear pressed against his chest all the while.

He nuzzles in closer, nose to nose with the older boy, and tilts forward to press his lips to Johnny's cupid bow. _Wake up,_ he wants to say. _We're running out of time._

He pulls back and trails his hand down the length of Johnny's arm, soaking up the heat rising to the surface of his skin, grazing his fingertips over the short, fine hairs over Johnny's forearm. The timer is warm to the touch, smooth and worn from years and years of wear. There's a scratch in the surface of it, one tiny imperfection in the chrome, that Ten likes to dig into with the tip of his fingernail. With a grunt, Ten manages to pull Johnny's hand, weighed down with sleep, up to his chest, and he eyes the numbers across the silver band, still steadily counting down.

Two weeks.

Just two measly weeks until Johnny's timer runs out. Until he's to meet his soulmate.

And then what?

He aches to imagine any of the scenarios following that brief, fated moment in time. No matter which way you look at it, someone's going to be unhappy, and Ten hopes beyond hope that that someone won't be Johnny.

"I can hear you thinking," Johnny whispers. His voice is scratchy and rough, and hits Ten with heat in his gut. Johnny twists his wrist out of Ten's hold and presses his hand flat against Ten's chest, eyelids fluttering open. His irises are the color of molten, sooty amber. "Stop that."

Ten ducks his chin to his chest, dropping his gaze. The wind howls outside. There are reports of a summer storm on the way, and his skin prickles with anticipation for it. "Sorry."

"Hey," Johnny says, and now his hand is cupping Ten's cheek gently, his thumb tracking back and forth across the hard line of Ten's jaw. "I love you, Ten."

Every time he hears it feels like the first time. His heart stutters, his breath catches, his belly swoops. Ten hiccups and throws himself face-first into Johnny's chest, and Johnny exhales and it sounds like relief, like he's been waiting for him. He holds him, always.

"I love you, too," Ten says, pressing kisses into Johnny's skin. Pleading. Desperate.

.

Every night, there is something new.

They go to restaurants and bars, to the park for stargazing and making out in the dark, to a free summer concert on the Great Lawn. And Ten holds each precious moment close to his heart, locks the memories away for safekeeping. He takes dozens of pictures of Johnny, and Johnny of him. They take many more together, sometimes with others helping, sometimes not. Ten likes the photos best where they've been caught unawares, because he can see the way Johnny turns to him like a flower towards the sun, the brightness behind his eyes, the love in his lips.

In the middle of the week, the storm finally breaks. Ten stays late at the studio to work on the solo piece he's performing at the end of the summer. Sicheng and Yuta left about an hour ago, and Ten's phone has been lighting up with texts from Johnny.

He isn't purposefully ignoring him. It's just that his solo is important to him, too, and it's awful right now. The moves don't hit right. He feels gangling and awkward as he watches himself in the mirror. Ten loves to dance, but he's finding he much prefers dancing as part of a pair or in a group. There's a certain elegance to synchronicity that one person on stage can't emulate. At least he has his duet Sicheng to impress the masses, if anything.

Ten sits in the center of the floor with his legs spread wide. He falls forward, stretching, slowing his breaths. The rain is still pouring down outside, and the chill from the storm has spread inwards. His skin pebbles as the layer of sweat over it cools. It had been too hot for him to keep his hoodie on, and so he’d practiced in a thin tank top and a pair of loose pants. He sighs, sinking lower and deeper, digging into the tightness of his sore muscles.

He senses the door opening, and darts up from his stretch, prepared to jump up to greet whoever is staying here so late with him. But to his surprise, it's Johnny, looking sheepish and sweet, wet over his shoulders, the hood of his sweater pulled over his hair.

He’s holding a bag of takeout in one hand, which he raises as a peace offering when he sees the surprise on Ten's face. "You weren't answering, and Sicheng mentioned you were still at the studio. It's really late, so I thought...I thought maybe you hadn't eaten yet."

Ten eyes the food as Johnny approaches, but a grin breaks out over his face. He crosses his legs in a seat and feels himself flush as Johnny joins him on the floor. "What is it?"

"Just some fried rice. It's chicken."

Ten takes the bag from him and opens it up, the savory aroma welling up to meet his nose. His stomach gurgles with interest. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. "You didn't have to do this. You’re all wet." He points at the dark spots in the hoodie over Johnny’s shoulders, his squeaky and soaked shoes. He’s dry elsewhere, so he must have brought an umbrella with him. Thankfully.

"I wanted to," Johnny insists, shaking the hood of his sweater down from above his head. "It's not...creepy, right? That I'm here?"

"It's not." Ten grins. "Well, maybe. I mean, you did come seek me out, all alone in a big studio full of mirrors. No warning or anything...you could be trying to kill me."

Johnny rolls his eyes as Ten opens the takeout container and pulls out a plastic spoon from the bag. "We literally live together, Ten. If I wanted to plan your murder, there are many more convenient ways to go about it."

"So you _have_ thought about it."

Johnny says, "Just eat your food, please. I traveled so far in the rain to pick it up for you.”

“What a gentleman,” Ten teases, and eats happily. There’s a can of Ginger Ale in the bag, too. Ten takes it out and pops the can open, sipping at the sugary, bubbly drink. As he eats, Johnny roams around the studio slowly, examining the barre, the cracks in the mirrors near the floor, the corner where the sound system sits and where an upright piano leans heavily against the wall, its keys yellowed with age and covered in a fine layer dust.

Ten watches him in the mirror, the way his face changes, his expression of open, radiant wonder. Johnny brushes his index finger over a key, barely pressing down, but the hammer inside still moves against against string. The sound it produces is hollow and empty. The piano probably hasn’t been properly tuned in years, but still. “You can play something,” Ten says.

Johnny looks up at him, grin already in place, like he’s embarrassed to be caught admiring something beautiful. “Nah, it’s okay.”

“You promised to play for me, once.” Ten pouts.

“It’s been a while. I’m really rusty.”

“Please?” Ten pleads, putting his food down and standing, moving over to where Johnny stands before the piano bench. He sits primly on the edge and pats the space next to him. Biting his bottom lip, Johnny sits also, his fingers coming to rest naturally on the keys. Ten admires the curve of Johnny’s wrists, raised and poised, floating above the surface of the piano, suspended as though by invisible strings.

He presses down with his first, third, and fifth fingers, plays a chord. It rings out into the space of the studio, resonating off the walls and mirrors. He plays another, and another, warming up. Adds a little trill that sounds like the twittering of birds. Ten’s closes his eyes, and Johnny takes a breath, and then he starts to play the beginning notes of a song.

It isn’t a song that Ten has heard before, but the melody moves through him in a familiar, haunting way. He can predict the rises and falls of the notes, can see the story in the music unfold on the backs of his eyelids. It’s a somber, sad song. A lonely one. Thinking that Johnny must have written this, Ten’s heart breaks a little bit.

Halfway through, Johnny stumbles. His fingers freeze over the keys and he looks at Ten with wide eyes, startled by his own mistakes.

Ten nudges him with a shoulder. “Go back," he encourages. "Play it again.”

With a breath, Johnny does, and Ten stands, the song no longer new to him. He moves to it, telling the story in the song now with his limbs and body. He curls himself small when the song is weak and uncertain, and explodes with strength when the song gains confidence. A touch here and a tap there, Ten holds his heart in his hands like the song wants him to and presents it to anyone who’s looking to reckon with it.

But the only person who’s looking is Johnny.

Their eyes meet in the mirror with the song’s dying notes. Johnny’s cheeks are pink and rosy, and Ten’s breath is coming in fast. The last chord rings out and stays adrift in the air, a swan song. Johnny says, “The way you move. It’s unreal.”

“That was beautiful. Did you write that?”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, his throat bobbing in the column of his neck. “I didn’t realize I’d written it for you.”

After that, there’s nowhere to go but to each other. They move as one and meet in the middle, and Johnny’s hands come to rest around Ten’s hips and Ten’s arms loop around Johnny’s neck. Ten has to stand on his toes to kiss him, and Johnny welcomes his mouth with a gasp, his fingers digging into the softness of Ten’s waist.

“Up,” Johnny says.

Ten hops, wraps his legs around Johnny’s middle. Broad, warm hands cup under his thighs and hold him tight and pressed against his boyfriend. He peppers kisses over Johnny’s face, each kiss another sign of adoration, of want, of love. He feels Johnny moving them toward the mirrors, and groans when his back meets the cool, smooth surface. His hands grasp tightly at Johnny’s hair when the older boy pushes against him, grinding into him. “Johnny! The door,” Ten gasps. “Lock it?”

“There’s no one here,” Johnny whispers in a rough voice. He presses kisses against the side of Ten’s neck, tonguing at the salt of his skin.

“The cleaners,” Ten whines. “And security.”

“Fine.” Johnny pulls back and Ten almost wishes he had never said anything, but the glint in the other’s eye keeps him quiet and waiting as he lowers Ten to the ground and crosses the wooden studio floor to the door. He shuts it. The lock clicks into place with his sure fingers. Then, he flicks off the light.

The studio plunges into darkness. Ten lets out a squeak, surprised again, but his eyes adjust quickly. There’s still a bit of light coming in through the small, square window in the door, but every time he blinks, darkness creeps into the edges of his vision. Johnny comes back, all glinting teeth and big hands, and when he pushes Ten against the mirrors again there’s a certainty to his movements that makes Ten want to sink to his knees and let Johnny do whatever he wants to his mouth. Maybe he’ll suggest it. He’s about to, knees already bending, when Johnny flips him against the mirror so that his chest is pressed against it, so that he’s watching himself, and watching Johnny in the dark, dim reflection. Another gasp. Johnny pulls him by the hips flush against his groin and circles his hips so he can feel how hard Ten makes him.

“Look at you,” Johnny says close to his ear. Ten’s knees are quaking. “You worried someone will walk in on us?”

Ten nods, but the words send an arrow of desire right through the center of him. He moans when Johnny grinds against him again, mouth falling open and breath fogging up the glass in front of him. His fingers scrabble against the slick surface, unable to find purchase. One of Johnny’s hands come around to his front, lays flat against Ten’s belly, and then wanders lower and lower, underneath the band of his pants and into his briefs. He twitches and cries out when Johnny wraps his hand around him.

“You’re already wet,” Johnny teases. “Tell you what, you can keep watch through that window.”

Dazed, still huffing against the mirror, Ten’s eyelids flicker open and his gaze falls to the reflection of the window in the mirror. There’s no one there, but it would be so easy for anyone to walk by, to peek in, to see them like this. At first, in the darkness, maybe they wouldn’t see anything, but if they stared for long enough they’d notice their forms against the glass and reflected, Johnny grinding slowly against him and Ten panting helplessly, pushing his hips back and wanting more.

“God, I want you so bad.” Johnny strokes him in his pants slowly, almost leisurely.

Ten rises up onto his toes, eyes scrunching shut in frustration. “I want you,” he pleads. “Can you -- just--!” Ten finally has the sense to find the waistband of his own pants pushes both his pants and briefs down to mid-thigh, revealing the globes of his ass.

“We don’t have anything,” Johnny says.

“Just _use_ me,” Ten begs of him, nearly crying with how much he wants something, anything. Anything Johnny wants to give him.

“Shh, shh.” Johnny takes one of Ten’s hands and guides it back to Ten's dick, curls both of their fingers around him, and sets a slow, slow pace. “I’m gonna do what you asked, baby,” he says, letting go and leaving Ten to stroke himself. He hears Johnny unzipping his jeans. He watches Johnny in the mirror, watches him take a finger into his mouth and suck and lave at it before sliding it in one long stroke down the cleft of Ten’s ass.

Ten almost collapses on the spot. Luckily, Johnny’s other hand is still holding him by the hips, and keeps him steady.

“Don’t stop stroking, Ten,” Johnny reminds him. Ten diligently picks up the pace. “And don’t forget to keep watch.”

Ten moans, dick twitching in his hand. That wasn’t fair. Johnny keeps dragging his wet fingers up and down between his ass cheeks, fingers never quite pushing into him, and suddenly he realizes what he’s going to do. “Please,” Ten asks sweetly over his shoulder. “Please, Johnny, _please."_

“I think you’re ready now,” Johnny says.

Johnny thrusts his dick along the trail of spit his finger has left. The push and pull isn’t exactly slick, not at first; it’s rough and builds heat quickly, and Johnny’s breath in Ten’s ear and his fingers gripping his hips are enough, for now. He tries to match the pace of Johnny’s fucking with his hand over himself, imagines what it would feel like for Johnny to be fucking into him instead. Hot, hard, relentless. That’s what he wants. To feel it for days, for Johnny to know he ruined him, for Johnny to be the one to put him together again.

The slide becomes smoother. The mess between Ten’s cheeks is Johnny’s spit, Johnny’s precum. Ten’s moans are loud and continuous. Doesn’t matter. There’s no one here to hear them except maybe the cleaners. The security. Johnny’s body shields him from sight.

He feels it when it stops being about him and starts becoming more about Johnny, intent on chasing his pleasure. The way his hands change grip and squeeze his ass cheeks together for more friction. When Johnny pushes him so hard against the mirror that Ten can barely move his hand over himself. He comes up onto his toes again, reveling in the feeling, so close to climax. “Yes,” he urges Johnny. “Yes, yes, _yes."_

Johnny comes across the small of Ten’s back, and Ten comes shortly after, against the mirror, in thick white stripes. They sink to the floor together, Ten nestled between Johnny’s knees, breathing hard in synchronized lungfuls.

“Wow,” Johnny murmurs. He kisses the back of Ten’s ear, then the back of his neck, at the base of his skull. His arms are hot and tight around Ten’s middle.

“Yeah,” Ten pants.

“I can’t believe we did that.”

“Did you hate it?”

Johnny chuckles, kissing Ten’s shoulder now and resting his chin there. “Of course not. Did you? Was it okay for you?”

“Yeah,” Ten says, still unable to catch his breath. He feels like he’s floating.

“I made a mess on you,” Johnny says quietly. He drags a finger through the spunk on Ten’s back. Licks at it.

Ten shudders and says, “Use my tank. I have a hoodie I can wear.”

“And the mirror?”

“Shit,” Ten curses, looking up at the globs he left on the glass. “There’s, like, cleaner stuff in the bathroom.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Johnny says. He kisses his shoulder again as he tucks himself back into his jeans. Eases Ten of out his tank and cleans him off the best he can. Brings his hoodie over and pulls it down over his head, kisses Ten’s nose. “I love you,” he says. He goes to get the stuff to clean the mirror from the bathroom.

When they leave the studio, they only run into one security guard wandering around in the huge lobby, in front of the theater where the performance will be in a couple of weeks. The guard smiles at Ten as they leave, offering a little wave. “Kids working late?” the guard asks, and Ten can only nod shyly in reply. Johnny offers, “Have a good night.”

They step out into the rain. All around them, the night glitters.

.


	14. Chapter 14

Yuta is there in the morning when Ten arrives at the studio, stretching in the corner with a can of Monster between his legs as Sicheng practices pirouettes in the center of the floor.

“Oh, hey,” Ten greets them both, surprised by Yuta’s presence. The other boy’s blond hair is kind of a mess, and his eyes are barely open as he peers up at Ten from his wide straddle on the ground. Yuta grunts, and Sicheng steps out of his spin, gracefully sliding down to his knees.

“Morning.”

Ten’s eyes flick to the spot on the mirror where just hours ago, Johnny had rutted against him until they both came. His cheeks heat at the memory. As casually as he can, he strides over to the mirror and puts his bag down, checking the glass and the floor to make sure they hadn’t left any traces of the mess they made last night. “What are you doing here?” he asks Yuta. “It’s really early!”

“I am asking myself the same thing,” Yuta says robotically, slumping over his right knee and stretching his arm out along his leg. “How do you do this? Every day? Isn’t sleep important to you?”

“So’s practice,” Ten says, at the same time Sicheng says, “I told you, we’re used to it.”

Yuta grunts again and appears to doze off in a split, elbows on the floor propping his upper body up, as Ten warms up his body with some light stretches. Sicheng moves about the dance floor, practicing the choreography for their pair dance and his solo piece interchangeably. He’s an elegant dancer, all long-limbed and graceful, trained since he was very young, and Ten watches him in admiration.

“He wanted more time,” Sicheng says with a short breath, after Yuta starts to snore, still slumped over in the same position. He pads over to Ten barefoot, cheeks flushed from exertion, and sits down in front of him with a light smile playing on his lips. “We’re trying to figure out how to make it work when he goes back to Osaka, and I go back to Beijing.”

“What’s the plan?”

Sicheng hugs his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth on his bum. “Don’t know for sure yet. Lots of video chats, and we’ll try to meet up over our mid-winter breaks I think. I’ve still got two years left at college, but he’s done…He said he could move to be with me.”

Ten’s eyes widen as his jaw falls open, slack. “So soon?”

“That’s what I said,” Sicheng agrees quietly. “But, like, we’re forever, you know? So maybe that’s okay.”

“Living together is kind of a big deal,” Ten says. He doesn't mean for it to sound critical, and hopes Sicheng doesn't take it that way.

To his relief, his friend nods. “I know it is. And I don’t really think we’re ready for it. But it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” He tilts his head and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “You and Johnny live together, though.”

“We _dorm_ together. In the city. That’s different,” Ten is quick to say.

“It’s not that different,” Sicheng says, and it gives Ten permission to imagine what it would be like to be with Johnny outside of this summer. He’s tried not to think about it too much, tried keeping the details and thoughts and hopes and wishes vague. But now he sees it clearly.

Ten’s got a year left of school, and Johnny’s done. The older boy will get a job in the city through this internship and work long hours as someone’s assistant, most likely. They’ll call each other on the weekends and on some nights, when one or the other can’t sleep. They’ll take holidays in Europe because Ten’s always wanted to see the ballet in Paris and Johnny’s always wanted to take pictures of the ruins in Greece and Italy. When Ten graduates, he’ll move back to New York City to be with Johnny. They’ll spend a few years here, carving out a pocket of the city for themselves, growing familiar with neighborhoods before moving to new ones, and then they’ll go somewhere else. Maybe Chicago. Maybe London.

The image of that dreamed-up life is so clear that Ten can almost reach out and touch it. But he keeps his hands close to his body.

“His timer runs out on the night of our performance,” Ten says.

“What?”

“I counted,” Ten admits, misery creeping into his bones. He’d done the math on the train this morning after peeking at the numbers on Johnny’s wrist again, the older boy still asleep next to him. He had to know, and now he does.

“Oh, Ten.” Sicheng reaches out and takes Ten’s hand into his. Then he scooches over on his butt to sit next to Ten, their backs to the mirror. “Does he realize?”

Ten lets his head fall onto Sicheng’s shoulder. He feels heavy, suddenly, weighed down like his limbs are made of concrete. _Moving_ will be a struggle today, much less dancing. “He still thinks it won’t matter.”

“But it matters to you,” Sicheng says, brows furrowing. “So shouldn’t it matter to him? Have you told him?”

 _Has_ Ten told Johnny? He thinks he has. He’s told Johnny about Kun, and about growing up without any numbers on his wrist, and he’s told Johnny about the jeers and the jokes. How desperate he’d been as a teenager to prove he could amount to something despite being nothing. That’s what being a Zero means. He's nothing. A filler. A space holder.

He knows Johnny knows he’s worried he’ll leave him when he meets his soulmate. Johnny seems to think that it won’t be an issue, that they can continue to be together even after that moment in time. But Ten knows better. They could try, maybe, but the memory of Johnny’s soulmate will nag at his boyfriend's mind until it drives a wedge between them both, until Johnny realizes that there’s someone out there who's better for him, who's made for him.

And Ten will be left alone. Again. A Zero.

“I haven’t told him everything,” Ten says.

Sicheng lays his head down over Ten’s, holds his hand in his lap. “Maybe you should.”

.

Ten and Johnny don’t go out that night. Ten claims his head hurts, and Johnny plies him with glasses of water and some painkillers and cuddles him aggressively until he drops off to sleep. It feels good to be held so tightly in Johnny’s arms, for all of Johnny’s attention to be on him. Ten feels like a thief, counting the jewels and coins under the glass of the display case greedily before he even breaks the lock.

.

Ten meets Taeyong on their double date at a little Italian restaurant in the East Village. They’re seated al fresco, their table for four closest to the pedestrians on the sidewalk, and Taeyong’s sharp beauty seems to glint like the edge of a knife under the ambient light from the orange street lamps. He smiles whenever Doyoung looks at him. Lights up when he speaks. Outside of these things, Taeyong is much quieter than Ten expected, though not aloof. Just a thinker. He spends a long time poring over the menu and offers suggestions to the table, and he chooses a bottle of wine for them all to split after everyone agrees to it.

“We going classy tonight?” Ten asks, and Taeyong just sort of looks at him without any expression, and Ten flushes, feeling immature and childish.

“Yongie can’t hold his alcohol very well,” Doyoung laughs, throwing his arm around the back of Taeyong’s seat. They lean into each other, comfortable in each other’s space.

The chairs they sit in are rickety and wooden, and Ten feels like there’s a whole gulf separating him from Johnny. He could try to scoot closer, but the chairs will scrape loudly against the sidewalk, and he’d probably do something embarrassing anyway like lose balance and spill over onto the concrete.

“But I like wine,” Taeyong explains, grinning at Doyoung. “He doesn’t as much. I guess we can’t all be perfect.”

“Oh, hilarious,” Doyoung says, and they rub noses and kiss each other. “So what, you think you’re perfect?” Doyoung mutters under his breath against Taeyong’s lips, and Taeyong goes, “Hm, yeah?” And so on and so forth.

Ten swings his gaze over to Johnny, and Johnny reads the disbelief on his face.

“You get used to it,” Johnny says in a low voice.

He does.

Over a dinner of pasta and some shared small plates, he gets used to the way Taeyong and Doyoung seamlessly move with and around each other -- eating, drinking, speaking, laughing. They finish each other’s sentences. They eat off each other’s plates. They have entire conversations where they just look at each other and seem to know exactly what the other needs or wants. To an outsider, it feels like watching two halves become one.

After dinner, Taeyong and Doyoung gracefully exit, heading back to Taeyong’s place to catch up on some Netflix. Or so they say. There are a lot of kisses left on each other’s cheeks as they part ways, and finally Ten and Johnny walk back to the NYU dorms slowly, hand in hand, lethargic after a big meal on a warm night. The heat is back after the storm moved on, the air still and quiet and heavy.

“Everything okay?” Johnny asks when they’re halfway back to the dorms and cutting through Tompkins Square Park, an empty basketball court on one side of them and a small patch of grass on the other. “You’re quiet.”

“I can be quiet,” Ten quips, leaning against Johnny’s arm. He’s a little wine-drunk, sleepy and hazy, the street lamps they pass all fuzzy with halos.

“Yeah,” Johnny agrees. “But usually when you’re thinking. What are you thinking about, love?”

Ten’s chest expands with the word. He looks at Johnny and then shifts his gaze up to the big, black sky so far above them and wonders why he couldn’t have been born normal. He thinks of Doyoung and Taeyong and the way they complete each other. Sicheng and Yuta and their tentative plans to move in together, to start a life together. “Don’t you want to be with the person you belong with?” Ten asks, and Johnny immediately sighs, steps faltering. Ten tugs at his arm, continuing so that Johnny can’t start to protest, “Hey. Hey! Listen. Doyoung and Taeyong are soulmates. They’re _perfect_ for each other. Anyone can see it. Don’t you want that, too?”

Johnny stops completely, and Ten is yanked back by their linked arms. “Ten,” Johnny says, his voice low and serious. “Look at me.” Ten won’t, so Johnny cups his cheek in his palm and forces him to. “Don’t I have that with you?” he asks.

Cheek pinched and head spinning, Johnny’s eyes are like dark, hypnotic pools. Ten screws his eyes shut to avoid falling into them and says, “Ow -- Let me go.”

Johnny drops his hands with a gasp, stricken and stunned, and Ten zigzags away from him, pride stung. It hadn’t hurt when Johnny cupped his cheek, but it had surprised him.

“I’m sorry -- Ten!”

He’s drunker than he thought. Ten catches himself on the black metal gate separating the pavement from the grass, and feels Johnny’s hand on the small of his back moments later. The blood starts to pound in his head, a thick, sluggish beat. He aches all over.

“Are you gonna be sick?” Johnny asks.

Ten doesn’t know. He hopes not. He hates being sick, especially out here. Especially in front of Johnny. “It hurts,” Ten whines.

“What does, baby?”

“Everything,” Ten says. “I miss you so much and you haven’t even left yet.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You will,” Ten mumbles, hunched over the railing now and trying to remember how to breathe to keep the nausea at bay. Johnny’s hand rubs his back in smooth and slow movements, and gradually, the nausea passes, but the horrible emptiness in his gut remains.

Johnny says, “The timers, the soulmates. I don’t care about that stuff, Ten. You know that.”

“Well, I do,” Ten says. That emptiness claws at his insides like a creature trying to fight its way out of its throat. He swallows, trying to keep it down.

“Why should I care about what a little timer is telling me on my wrist?”

“It’s not the timer,” Ten says. It feels like there’s fire licking at his veins, in his eyes. He blinks back tears. “It’s the universe. It's everything.”

Johnny’s mouth falls open into a soft o. Even now, Ten wants to crawl forward and kiss it, wants to lick into his mouth and run his tongue across Johnny’s teeth. But he doesn’t. Johnny asks, “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

Ten’s stomach sours with acid. “It’s not ridiculous!” he hisses, hurt and angry, pushing himself off the rail. “It can’t be ridiculous if everyone in the world believes in it. It’s faith, or -- or it’s science. It’s something too big for us to understand.”

“So we’re just supposed to trust it? Blindly?”

“Yes,” Ten says, though the word feels foreign on his tongue, and the sad, disappointed look on Johnny’s face absolutely guts him. “No,” he continues with uncertainty. “I don’t know!”

The park isn’t empty. Couples and friends and people with their dogs wander on the pathways between the grass and the basketball courts. The street lamp fifty paces away throws faded orange light onto the pavement below it. Some of the pedestrians in the park look at Johnny and Ten as they pass, but most of them don’t. Ten thinks of Kun, who left him behind. Of Johnny, who will. In a fit of anger, he raises his arm high into the air and brings his wrist crashing down onto the iron rail, and his timer clangs loudly against it.

Pain lances up his forearm. He brings his wrist up a second time. Johnny catches him before he can do it again.

“Stop! Stop that!”

Ten yells, struggling against Johnny’s hold and kicking out his feet when Johnny pins his arms against his sides in a bear hug with Ten's back pressed against Johnny's chest. “Let go!”

“No, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Let go!” Ten cries, loud enough that he knows half the park hears.

Johnny drops his hold for the second time that night, and Ten’s feet hit the ground so hard his knees buckle. When Ten whirls around to face him, the other boy’s hands are in the air. Feverish spots of pink sit high on Johnny's cheeks as his nostrils flare like an angry bull’s. “Can you stop acting like you’re completely insane?” Johnny hisses.

The air catches in Ten's lungs. His stomach turns to lead and drops to the floor, and Johnny’s face falls, his eyes pooling with regret at what he’s said.

“Oh ho ho,” Ten laughs without humor, feeling a little wild, the fire in his veins about to burst right out of his skin. He could just about explode. Or implode. Instead, he flips Johnny the finger with both hands, which he hasn’t done to anyone since high school. “Wow.  _Fuck_ you, Johnny,” he says, and then he stalks off toward the edge of the park.

After a moment, he hears, “Ten -- wait!” but he doesn’t look back. There’s a cab waiting at the light on 9th Street. He climbs into the backseat and closes the door behind him. Johnny appears at the passenger side window just as the light turns green, and they hold each other’s gazes as the cab pulls away from the curb. Three blocks later, Ten sinks down into the uncomfortable cushions, his eyes burning, his wrist throbbing.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ow? :(


	15. Chapter 15

Ten wakes up to the smell of eggs frying in a pan, the sound of oil spattering and crackling. People are talking in the kitchen, their voices low and blending together to create one continuous low and murmuring hum of noise. His brain is pulsing in his skull like it’s trying to push its way out of his ears. Ten doesn’t blame it. He, too, feels like it might be best if he just found a way to crawl out of his own skin. He opens his eyes and sees Sicheng’s glass coffee table before him, the blank, black screen of a huge television mounted on the wall opposite, and the media station underneath it with so many dials and knobs Ten’s eyes start to unfocus when he stares at it for too long.

So he’s at Sicheng’s, on his leather couch, in his living room. Great. At least he made it somewhere familiar and safe. 

He vaguely recalls stumbling out of a cab and into a bar, doing a couple of shots with some friendly strangers in a dim, crowded room, and stumbling out again. The rest of the night is a big blank spot, like the television screen before his eyes. 

How did he get here?

And why did he come alone?

He rolls over onto his back carefully, his head protesting even this small movement. A large, fluffy throw blanket covers his body, and he pulls this up to his chin to ward off the chill from the central air conditioning running throughout the lavish apartment. He spots his shorts he was wearing last night draped over the armrest of the couch and shifts his legs under the blanket, feeling the soft fabric brush up against his skin. 

What happened before the cab? What time is it? Where was Johnny? Why did he come here instead of going back to the dorms?

Groaning, Ten rolls over again, throwing his arm out from underneath the blanket to reach for his phone on the coffee table. Maybe his phone will give him some clues. But his arm lands heavily on the glass, and when his timer knocks against the surface his whole body jolts with pain, the epicenter of it his throbbing wrist, and he curses. Loudly.

“Shit!” Ten curls his wrist toward himself, laying on his side and cradling his forearm against his chest. He shrinks back under the covers completely and looks down at his hands. The skin underneath his timer is purple with bruising, the space between his wrist and the chrome band almost nonexistent from how the injury has swelled. “What the hell,” Ten cries, riding out the waves of pain still emanating from the impact and clenching his eyes shut.

He feels a presence hovering over him moments later, hears the clatter of a plate being set down on the glass table, and then the covers are being yanked away. Reflexively, Ten draws his knees to his chest, making himself small as the chilled artificial air hits his bare legs. “Awake?” comes Sicheng’s voice, full of exasperation. But then the tone shifts quickly into concern. “What happened? Oh, my god, Ten! Was that there last night?”

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes as Ten opens them. Sicheng pulls the blanket back over his body, covering him halfway and tucking the fabric carefully around Ten’s balled up form, and Yuta comes into view. He takes one look at Ten’s wrist and then whisks away again, back into the kitchen.

“What happened?” Sicheng asks again, sitting down on the couch next to Ten. He brushes his fingers through Ten’s hair because he knows Ten likes the soothing feeling before placing his hand lightly on Ten’s shoulder. He bites down into his bottom lip. “Did...did Johnny…?”

“What?” Ten snaps through his teeth, still holding his wrist protectively. “Johnny would never.”

“Then what happened? You fell?” Sicheng’s expression is one of utter disbelief.

Ten blinks, and the whole night comes rushing back to him. Dinner with Doyoung and Taeyong. The way Taeyong's eyes shone whenever Doyoung so much as glanced his way. The bottle of wine shared over food. Or was it two bottles? He remembers the park, the orange glow of the street lamps, he remembers hanging off Johnny's arm like a fish on a line, mouth flapping words about timers and the universe. He remembers being angry, and sad, and hurt. Johnny didn't understand what it was like to wear a metal circlet on your wrist where the numbers had never once changed, how it felt to know you could never really belong with anyone, anywhere. He remembers throwing his wrist against the black iron rail, Johnny's arms tight around his middle as he thrashed in his hold, what Johnny said.

Shit. Maybe he  _ is _ crazy. 

“I didn't fall,” Ten mumbles, a numbness creeping over him inch by inch. “I did this to myself.”

“ _ Why _ ?” Sicheng asks. 

“Because there's something wrong with me.”

Sicheng's eyes are huge, and Ten thinks about how this is where the line he can never cross -- whether real or perceived -- makes itself known in the sand and grows like a canyon. No matter what anyone says or thinks, that line will always be there because it was drawn and carved out by someone else. 

“There's nothing wrong with you, Ten,” Sicheng says quietly. He squeezes his shoulder just as Yuta returns with a cold compress wrapped in a damp washcloth.

“Let me see it,” Yuta says, kneeling down next to the couch so that he's eye level with Ten, who frowns and tightens his hold over his own wrist. Yuta sighs. “I used to b-boy, remember? I've had my fair share of breaks and sprains. I just want to make sure it's not serious.”

Still frowning, Ten offers his wrist to him slowly, preemptively sucking in a breath when Yuta circles his wrist with his thumb and forefinger where the bruising is darkest purple. Yuta squeezes his tender flesh and bones lightly, moving up and down Ten's forearm, testing for weak spots. When he's done, he nods to himself, satisfied. 

“You're in luck,” Yuta announces, wrapping the compress around Ten's whole wrist. The frozen chill quickly seeps into Ten's skin, and he lets out a weak whine. “I've determined it's just bruising. Also that you're an idiot.”

Sicheng glares at Yuta with the force of a fencer lunging at his opponent for the match point, and Yuta falls back, grin slipping from his face. “What?” he asks.

“I am a  _ huge _ idiot,” Ten agrees. “He's right. I'm stupid and crazy and dumb.”

“Woah, I didn't say all that--”

Sicheng interjects, “You are  _ not _ . Any of those things. Don't say that.”

“Let me hate myself for a minute.”

“You've got ten seconds,” Sicheng says, and then actually starts counting when Ten closes his eyes to wallow in self-pity and self-hate in peace. “And you're done.”

“Nothing has changed,” Ten wails.

“Are you gonna hurt yourself again?” Sicheng asks directly. Ten flinches and Yuta looks at them both, finally catching on.

“No,” Ten says, squirming under Sicheng's intense gaze. “I'm not.”

Sicheng lets out a long, slow breath through his lips, deflating like a balloon. “Do you remember what happened last night? You were a mess when you showed up here.”

“Oh,” Ten says miserably. “I remember everything.”

“I’m going to get him some water,” Yuta mumbles, making his escape back into the kitchen and nodding at his boyfriend. 

Sicheng waves him off and continues to stare down at Ten with that same piercing gaze, like a kid with a magnifying glass trying to weaponize the sun. Ten curls up tighter, skin burning hot with shame.

“Then you remember you told us you and Johnny had a fight, right?”

Ten nods, even though he can’t quite remember having that conversation. He trusts Sicheng though. Drunk Ten probably did have an entire ranty and rambling conversation about their fight.

“What was it about, hm?”

“It’s stupid,” Ten whines, head pounding again now that the throbbing of his wrist has subsided a bit. He can’t help the tears that fill his eyes and fall to the pillow under his head. Sicheng’s hand squeezes his shoulder again, and Ten loses it, suddenly bawling. He’s dehydrated as hell, so he has no idea where the tears are even  _ coming  _ from, but still they flow, and it feels like someone has taken a hammer to his body and gone to town. He hurts. “God, I’m an idiot. I was trying to tell him why it’s so hard to believe we’ll be okay. But we were drunk, or I was drunk, and -- and -- I fucked it all up. He called me _crazy_. He said I was acting insane. Maybe I was. Why the hell did I do  _ this _ ?” He holds up his wrist wrapped in the cold compress and all Sicheng does is gently place his palm over his forearm to guide it back down onto the cushions again, close to his chest.

“You are not crazy,” Sicheng says, quiet but certain. 

Ten gasps through his tears, his body shaking with his sobs. “He thinks I am.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Sicheng says in that same certain tone.

“You didn’t see the look on his face. Oh, he was so angry.  _ At me _ . That hurt. That hurt the most.”

“Even if you were angry last night -- the both of you -- he’s not angry anymore.”

Ten stills, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes with one fist as he waits for Sicheng to elaborate. “What?”

“He’s been texting me all morning. Some last night, too. Wondering where you were. Worried about you. Apologizing for what he said to you.”

Ten scoffs, pushing himself up to sit. His head spins and his vision grays out alarmingly, but he manages to grit his teeth through the wave of vertigo. He rubs at his cheeks with his palm angrily, drying them as best he can with one hand. He probably has eyeliner all over his face. Sicheng even chuckles a little bit, scooting closer and patting down his hair and brushing the pad of his thumb across his cheek, presumably to rub away some mark or eyelash. “Why’s he apologizing to  _ you _ ?” Ten huffs.

“Sweetie,” Sicheng says, reaching behind himself to pick up Ten’s phone from the coffee table. He plops it into Ten’s open, waiting palm. “Check your phone.”

Ten turns on the screen and stares at it in consternation. 10 missed calls. 3 voicemails. 23 texts. Johnny’s even tried to message him through Instagram. He falls back against the couch and brings his knees up to his chest, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. Yuta comes back with some water, and he puts the glass on the coffee table, next to the plate of untouched scrambled eggs that make Ten’s stomach turn just looking at them, and then Yuta and Sicheng leave the living room to mutter about something behind the door of Sicheng's bedroom. 

Ten opens the messages. Some of the texts are short:  _ Ten! Pick up _ ; and some of them are:  _ Ten please be okay. I am really, really sorry for what I said and for not taking you seriously. I don’t think you’re crazy or insane or whatever. I should have listened to you more, and better. Please don’t be reckless tonight. I love you so much. Please respond. _

He reads through them all.  _ I love you, _ Johnny has sent.  _ Come back to the dorm so we can talk, please. _ Hearing his voice on the voicemails makes Ten’s bottom lip tremble. Johnny sounds wrecked, and so worried. It’s all because of Ten. “Pick up your calls, Ten! I’m really --  _ really! _ \-- fucking worried right now. I’m sorry for calling what you were telling me ridiculous. I don’t really have an excuse. I’m a dumbass. I wanna make it better. Please, Ten. I’m listening now, okay? I love you.”

His phone falls from his hand onto the cushions, and the next voicemail autoplays, Johnny’s voice tinny and distant as Ten cries into his knees with shaking shoulders. “Sicheng said you showed up at his place. I’m glad you’re safe. I’ll stop...bothering you. I’m sorry, again. I love you. Good night, Ten.”

His phone beeps, indicating he has no more new voicemails. He imagines Johnny trying to find him frantically all throughout the East Village for hours after Ten fled, his boyfriend’s stomach in knots, sick with worry. All Ten’s fault. He’d put Johnny through that without even thinking. If only he hadn’t been so stupid and selfish--

The couch dips next to him as Sicheng sits and curls his arm behind Ten’s shoulders. He guides Ten’s head to his chest and lets Ten soak his tears into his shirt, lets Ten clutch at his arms and shake against him. Ten feels so, so small. 

Johnny doesn't deserve this. Johnny deserves love, and good things, always. He deserves dates in the park that don't end with Ten crying about a broken friendship and he deserves dinner with friends without worrying about where the hell his boyfriend is going to end up later that night. He deserves a soulmate.

“Here, drink some water,” Sicheng says, and puts the glass under Ten’s nose. There’s a straw in the cup. Ten takes it between his lips, taking long pulls and shuddering as the cool liquid slides down his throat. He finishes the glass quickly, almost choking on the last of it and sputtering. The action distracts him from crying so hard. Exhausted, Ten lays limp against Sicheng’s chest and hiccups pathetically. “He’s not mad anymore, is he.”

“No,” Ten whispers.

“Are you going to text him? Call him?”

“No,” Ten says, shaking his head. His throat tightens at the very thought. “I  _ can’t _ . Not yet.”

Sicheng sighs again with a hum, his low voice resonating within his chest. “When you’re ready, then,” he coaxes. “Just don’t make him wait too long.”

.


	16. Chapter 16

The eggs that Sicheng brought earlier this morning to the coffee table have gone cold and hard by the time Ten manages to move from the couch and toward the direction of the bathroom, goosebumps rising on his bare skin as he leaves the warm cocoon of the blanket. He doesn’t bother to pull on his shorts, uncaring about traipsing around in just his black briefs and the light purple tank he wore to dinner last night.

Sicheng’s seen worse, and Yuta will have to get used to it. The two of them are back in the bedroom anyway, the door left slightly ajar so that when Ten walks past it, he can see them curled up in bed together watching a Japanese drama on the television. His stomach sinks. He knows they’re worried about their time in New York ending soon and being physically apart for so long after, and here Ten is encroaching on their precious time. But he can’t bring himself to leave yet, or to face Johnny. He supposes he could see what Lucas is up to, but Lucas will make him do something fun and enjoyable and the idea of Ten laughing and having a good time after what happened last night feels awfully undeserved.

He steps into the bathroom.

Sicheng’s family’s apartment is huge, and the bathroom is definitely to scale with the rest of the luxury corner unit they've bought in a building on the edge of Union Square. Probably all of Johnny and Ten’s room back at the dorms could fit in the bathroom. The tiling on the floor and walls is a clean, pure white, and the double sink and waterfall style shower stall are a warm cream. The faucets and knobs and other accents all gleam gold.

Ten relieves himself at the toilet, washes his hands, and then hunts through the drawers under the sink counter for a new toothbrush Sicheng said he could use. He finds a pack of them in the second drawer, unopened, and slaps the pack onto the counter, staring at the four toothbrushes lined up next to each other under a barrier of plastic. The sudden sensation of coming up against a huge wall in his own head stills him.

He should open the pack. He should brush his teeth. He should shower. He should eat something. He should call Johnny. But everything feels like too much right in this moment. Why can’t he just go back to the couch and never emerge from under the blankets again? Sicheng’s family only uses the apartment when they’re visiting the city, often lending it to friends and family throughout the year. Ten, considered a friend (he hopes), could hermit himself away for a while. That _does_ sound nice.

He looks up from the new toothbrushes and startles himself with his own reflection in the mirror. He’d been right about the eyeliner. There are dark circles under his eyes from the makeup being smudged, and the glitter he’d worn over his eyelids has somehow tracked over his cheeks and forehead. His lips are dry, peeling from where he’s been biting into them.

“You’re a dumbass,” he whispers to his reflection.

Of course, no one responds.

.

Ten showers for so long that Sicheng comes by to knock on the door loudly, asking if he’s alright. He responds that he is, the steam so thick around him that his head spins when he inhales. He shuts the water off and steps out of the stall, grabbing a cream-colored towel from the rack above the toilet and roughly rubbing at his skin that is now red from the heat before hanging the towel back up on the rack.

The cabinets behind the mirrors are stocked full of lotions and creams and other skincare products. Ten helps himself to some of them, spreading toner and cream over his face and dabbing eye cream under his eyes. He slathers body butter over his arms and legs and tummy. Even if he feels like shit, his skin doesn't have to.

His old top and briefs sit in a crumpled heap near the edge of the counter where he'd left them before his shower. The thought of putting his tank back on kind of makes his skin crawl, so he just stares at it, mind going slowly blank again in the thick steam still swirling around in the confined space, until Sicheng raps his knuckles against the door with more urgency.

"You're using all my La Mer products, aren't you?"

"Not all of it!" Ten calls back, stalking to the door and opening it a peep, letting some of the steam escape in a trickle above his head. "It's like liquid gold," he says, pouting.

"More expensive than it, even," Sicheng responds. "You done in there?"

"I..." Ten hedges. "Do you have any clothes I can borrow?"

Sicheng lifts his eyebrows. Then he sighs and puts his hands on his hips. Ten feels a bit like he's standing in front of his mother waiting for a scolding. His friend inspects him with narrowed eyes and says, "You won't fit in anything of mine, but you and Yuta might be similar in size? I'll ask him."

"I love you," Ten says.

Sicheng rolls his eyes. "I know." He turns on his heel and goes back into the bedroom. Ten hears him speaking to Yuta and the way Yuta's voice rises and falls with question in response. He waits at the bathroom door, the chill from the living room seeping into the tiles under his feet. Sicheng returns with a neatly folded pile of clothes in his hands. "Here," he says, thrusting the pile at Ten. "There's a fresh pair of boxers, too. Yuta insisted."

"Yuta insisted I wear his underwear?"

Sicheng's mouth twitches, though he manages to keep a straight face. His eyes, however, sparkle in amusement. "Don't be ungrateful."

"Does it, like, do something for him? That I'm wearing his underwear. Is he into that stuff? It's okay, you know. Since you took me in and all, I'm happy to return the--"

"Just put on the clothes, Ten," Sicheng says, chuckling a bit now. He reaches out to pull the bathroom door shut for him. "And hurry it up. We've got plans and we need to shower, too."

Through the door, Ten questions, "Plans?"

.

Yuta's friend is visiting from Boston. Apparently, he's the son of his mom’s best friend and they knew each other in Japan. "He modeled for a bit," Yuta explains loudly, his voice carrying from the bathroom where he's currently blow-drying his hair, "moved around a lot with his family. Now he's at some super elite college in Boston? Doing smart people things."

"Harvard?" Ten questions, and Yuta pops his head out from behind the door frame to snap his fingers.

"Yeah, that's the one."

Ten looks at Sicheng, who is painting his toenails pale pink on the couch, and Sicheng just sighs. He seems to sigh a lot around both Ten and Yuta. "He knows other things, okay?" he says. "He doesn't care about stuff like that."

"I didn't say anything," Ten says, shifting back carefully on the couch so he doesn't jostle Sicheng's paint job. He plucks at the threads of the top that Yuta has lent him, a dark gray tank with black mesh insets at the collar and sides. It's a shirt to go out in, and Ten can't help but feel that Yuta planted it on him.

"Your face says it all," Sicheng points out. "You're really bad at hiding what you feel."

"I wish I were better at it," Ten mutters under his breath.

Sicheng pauses, his right knee pulled close to his chest, paint drying on his toes. He caps the bottle and hugs his arms around his leg. "Have you talked to Johnny yet?"

Ten stiffens, arms crossed over his middle. He shakes his head. "I will," he promises. He wishes he could sink and disappear into the crevices of the couch.

"When?"

"Soon," Ten sniffs.

Sicheng lets a moment of silence pass between them, and Ten looks at his phone left face-down on the coffee table. He hasn't turned it around all day. "You sure you want to come out?" Sicheng asks. "You don't have to. We can stay in."

The guilt makes his stomach sink again. Sicheng is willing to skip out on drinks (and clubbing, Ten imagines), willing to lose a whole night when he could be making memories with Yuta, to stay in with him to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. He should really just go back to the dorms and talk to Johnny, but he's too worried about what will happen when he does. His wrist, despite being wrapped in ice for hours today, still throbs whenever he moves his arm, and it reminds him how reckless he is. With himself. With Johnny.

Maybe it would be better if they broke up.

"No," Ten says. "Let's go out."

Sicheng grins. "Then can I do your makeup?"

.

Sicheng is halfway through applying highlighter on Ten's cheekbones in the bathroom when Yuta's voice rings out from the living room. "Johnny's calling you!"

Ten jolts so hard that Sicheng accidentally smears highlighter over the tip of his nose.

"Calm down," Sicheng says, rubbing at the mistake with the pad of his thumb. "Do you want to answer?"

Ten fidgets with the hem of the tank in between his hands. "No," he says. "I don't think I can talk to him right now."

"Can you text him instead?" Sicheng asks, going about swiping the shimmering powder over Ten's other cheekbone.

"Maybe," Ten whispers.

"After this, then."

Ten nods, and then freezes when Sicheng tells him off for moving while he's trying to add gold shimmer to the inside corners of his eyes. He keeps his eyes closed for the rest of the time Sicheng is prettying up his face, and frets about whether or not Johnny's left a message, or if he's angry Ten didn't pick up, or if he's now blocked him from his contacts. The scenario gets worse and worse in his head, until finally Sicheng is done and he can't even admire his friend's handiwork in the mirror as Sicheng goes to hunt down his phone in the living room.

"Here," Sicheng says, coming back to the bathroom with Ten's phone in his hand and sliding it over the counter. "Text him now."

Ten picks it up and turns it over. The screen shows a couple of notifications, and not all of them are from Johnny. There are a few from his family, his sister, his friends back home. He thumbs through those, procrastinating getting to Johnny's missed call.

He hasn't left a voicemail, and he hasn't texted since last night. A vice wraps around Ten's chest as he pulls up his texting app and scrolls through the last of their messages. _I love you,_ he reads again, the vice tightening. _Come back to the dorm so we can talk, please._

His breath shakes. Sicheng purposefully doesn't look at him, organizing his brushes and palettes and washing his hands in the sink before starting on his own makeup, giving him the space he needs to compose himself enough to send a few words to his boyfriend.

 _Johnny,_ he types in and erases three times before leaving it. _Johnny I'm really sorry about last night. I'm still with Sicheng and Yuta. I feel really stupid about what happened and I'm sorry I put you through all that. I know I’m being selfish, but I need some time...Can you wait for me? I’ll come back tonight, okay? I promise._

Ten reads over his message. Before he can delete everything he’s written, he presses send and shoots the message off in one long block. “I sent it,” Ten says, biting at his lips and meeting Sicheng’s eyes in the mirror.

Sicheng is carefully drawing thin eyeliner over his lash line. “And?”

“He hasn’t responded yet.”

“Of course he hasn’t, silly,” Sicheng says. “You literally just sent it. I meant, what did you write?” Ten flips the phone over to Sicheng so he can read it for himself, and Sicheng pauses in doing his makeup to skim over Ten’s message. A few seconds later, after Ten’s heart rate has skyrocketed with anxiety while his friend remained quiet as he read, Sicheng finally nods with approval. “It’s a start. Oh, look. He’s typing.”

“What?”

Ten quickly brings the phone back to his face. The bubbles appear in the corner of the app, starting and stopping a couple of times. He imagines everything possible that Johnny could say: _It’s over. We’re done. You’re too much work. We were never meant to be together, anyway._

But the bubbles reappear again and Johnny’s response comes a moment later.

He’s sent: _I’ll wait for as long as you need._

.


	17. Chapter 17

"I think we should go ahead and get our table," Sicheng says. There's a crowd of people outside of the Thai restaurant where they've made a reservation, and Yuta keeps checking his phone.

"He says he'll be here in a minute," Yuta explains, gnawing on his lip as he tries to stand up on his toes to peer up and down the sidewalk for his friend, reminding Ten of a squirrel in Central Park.

"He said that ten minutes ago," Sicheng says. "Listen, I'm not mad. It's hard navigating around here if you don't know where you're going, but I'm hungry."

"You guys get seats then," Yuta offers as a compromise. "I'll wait for him out here in case he walks past!"

"Okay, okay."

Ten tags along with Sicheng, going down the steps to the sub-level restaurant. The inside is pulsing with movement and music, and it's dark. The only lights are in tiny sconces high on the mirrored walls, and the space behind the bar near the entrance glows purple. A large statue of a Buddha sits next to the podium, where a pretty hostess flutters her long eyelashes at them and asks, "Reservation?"

"Yeah, Nakamoto," Sicheng says.

"Just the two of you?" she asks.

"No, it's for four still," Sicheng says. He gestures to the sidewalk. "They're just finishing their cigarettes outside," he lies smoothly.

The hostess curls her lips inward, clearly not buying it, but shrugs and grabs a couple of menus from behind the podium anyway. "Alright, whatever, this way." She guides them past the giant Buddha statue and then to a table against the wall near the bar, a bench on one side for seating and two chairs on the other. Ten slides onto the bench, squeezing himself into the corner, as she places the menus down for them. Sicheng sits across from Ten in one of the chairs. "Your server will be with you soon."

"Thanks," they both chime.

Ten skims the dinner menu quickly, reading over the names of some familiar Thai dishes, but nothing really stands out. He hasn't felt an ounce of hunger all day, though he knows he should eat. He'll probably just stick with a chicken fried rice and hope for the best. The separate drinks menu, though, calls to him, and he picks it up, glancing over the fancy lettering.

As though he can read his mind, Sicheng plucks the drinks menu from his hands and turns it around so that he can read it instead. "You're not drinking tonight, are you?" Sicheng asks.

Ten's eyes bulge. "Uh, why would you say that."

Sicheng shoots lasers from his eyes at him from over the top of the menu, and Ten feels his shoulders shrink in response. "We're _not_ having a repeat of last night."

Ten scowls. "I'll be responsible," he promises. "Just one drink. Every thirty minutes."

"Ten!"

"Ten drinks every thirty minutes? Now you're just being unreasonable." Sicheng drops the menu to groan with his face pressed into his hands, and Ten giggles a little at his friend's expense. "I'm kidding! No shots, then. Only fruity drinks."

"I'm not going to peel you off the bathroom floor again," Sicheng warns him, now interested in the food menu.

"Got it, no peeling," Ten confirms, nodding. A shadow falls over their table. Ten looks up, ready to order a tropical concoction from the drinks list that caught his eye, but his words get all tied up on his tongue when he sees a tall man with the most gentle smile on his face, dimples in his cheeks. Yuta bounds up to this stranger's shoulder, throwing his arm around him and needing to stand on his toes to do so.

"Guys!" Yuta shouts, gesticulating wildly between all of his friends. "This is Jaehyun! Jaehyun, this is Sicheng, my soulmate! And this is Ten!"

A timer beeps, barely discernible under the heavy music playing in the speakers of the restaurant, but Ten hears it, and then Jaehyun's looking down at his wrist, a tiny frown on his lips. Ten looks at it, too. He can see the numbers flashing zero in glowing green print, the pattern so familiar to him. 

Wait -- What's happening? Jaehyun's timer hit zero? Doesn't that mean he's met his soulmate? And who here is new to him? Sicheng, probably. Ten, certainly.

Their eyes had met and then Jaehyun's timer went off. That's how the moment replays in Ten's head.

Oh no, Ten thinks, a knot forming in his stomach that feels suspiciously like a pit of dread. He's wanted a soulmate for so long but he's never really stopped to consider what it might feel like to have one and not reciprocate, to  _ not  _ want to be with him. He's heard of one-sided pairs before, but mostly in passing, in myth. That's not how the world works, or so he's been told. He looks up at Jaehyun, trying to think of something to say, when Jaehyun brings his wrist up and smacks his timer a couple of times like it's a remote for a TV running low on batteries and not like it's a calculator for destiny.

Ten's jaw snaps shut. The timer stops beeping.

"Sorry about that," Jaehyun says, smiling again and looking sheepish and shy, "it goes off a lot."

.

Jaehyun fits himself onto the bench next to Ten, slipping his backpack from his shoulders and putting it on the ground. The pale purple shirt he's wearing is dotted with sweat, and his dark hair is wet near his temples. "I know, I’m gross," Jaehyun says when he notices Ten eyeing how damp he is. "It's just so hot here? Way hotter than Boston. And I came from being on the bus for like five hours."

"Oh no!" Ten waves his hands in front of himself, embarrassed at being caught. "You’re not gross at all! I'm just sympathizing. Is that all you brought with you?" He nods to the backpack.

Jaehyun runs his fingers through his thick hair, and it falls back into place in waves. Ten's throat bobs. The movement reminds him so much of Johnny.

"Yeah," Jaehyun says. "I pack light. Plus, Yuta said I can just borrow a bunch of his stuff if I need to, since I'm staying with them."

"You are?"

"Yeah," Jaehyun says, squinting at him. "Didn't they tell you?"

Did they? Perhaps they did. Ten has been so preoccupied with thoughts of Johnny and soulmates and his timer running out that any information outside of these things has slipped between his ears and right back out again. He tucks his hair behind ear, leaning his elbow on the table to face Jaehyun. "I probably just forgot," Ten says, flashing him a smile. "I'm a space cadet."

Jaehyun laughs and runs his fingers through his hair again. What a deadly habit, Ten secretly thinks, as his hair falls to frame his face. He’s handsome. Didn’t Yuta say he modeled in Japan? Ten's eyes fall to the numbers on Jaehyun's wrist; they flicker between zero and infinity, never settling, the hours counting up while the seconds count down for a moment and then flipped the other way around the next. No one mentioned anything when Jaehyun had told them his timer went off often, his cheeks pink and eyes lowered, and the question sits dripping like fat off a piece a meat on Ten's tongue.

"Space cadet? That's cute," Jaehyun says.

Ten flushes, then immediately chides himself for reacting that way. Jeez, he's only been away from Johnny for one day and already he's letting himself get worked up over some other guy with a messed up timer calling him cute. Some boyfriend he is. Johnny really does deserve better.

Thankfully, before he can get into a full-fledged, self-deprecating slump, their server arrives and takes their orders, and then the conversation turns to a Life Updates by Jaehyun, facilitated by Yuta.

Jaehyun’s working for one of his professors over the summer, doing research. It’s research on soulmates, actually. There’s a theory out there that timers aren’t the only way soulmates can tell they’re connected, and his professor’s been doing a meta-analysis on soulmates and dreams. Jaehyun’s not really sure about the dreams, but the statistical approach interests him. The science of soulmates.

Jaehyun actually lives and goes to school in Cambridge, not Boston. Picture red brick buildings and white trimmings, iron gates and green front lawns. Harvard itself is a bubble with a hard shell, and he’s hoping to move farther from campus next year to get away from the picture-perfect cobblestone streets, the quaint, upscale coffee shops, the kids whose families visit on the weekends to go brunch in Beacon Hill. 

“Not that I have anything against them,” Jaehyun quickly says. “It’s just weird to be there. I can’t really explain it. I feel like an imposter.” 

He’s still smiling, but when he looks at Ten, something shifts, like when out of nowhere your ear pops, a sudden release in pressure, and you can hear 100 times better than you could before. You didn’t even realize you were all plugged up. It’s that word:  _imposter_. It burrows into him like a worm into dirt. It rots him from the inside out. Ten’s felt it all his life. 

“Like you don’t belong there, and everyone’s just seconds away from finding out,” Ten says, and Jaehyun’s eyes widen. Maybe he felt the air pressure shift, too.

“Yeah.” He nods, eyes finding Ten’s and holding them. He doesn’t look away, even when their server returns with their drinks. “Exactly like that.”

.

Their food comes shortly after their drinks. Ten picks at his fried rice as the conversation continues, mostly driven by Yuta and with the occasional question thrown in by Sicheng. Ten’s had a weird, trying, tiresome couple of days, so he’s content to sit on the sidelines mostly, watching the conversation volley back and forth, sipping at his drink. He orders another tropical concoction when he’s done with it, and ignores Sicheng’s eagle eyes. He preoccupies himself with separating out the chunks of scrambled egg in the dish from everything else, and eats all of the chicken pieces out of his fried rice.

He learns that Yuta and Jaehyun spent their middle school years together in Tokyo because Jaehyun’s mom was modeling there at the time while his dad was busy being a full-time professor in the UK. Jaehyun’s favorite things about Japan? Cherry blossom season and how everything in the city turns blush pink because of all the cherry-blossom-inspired promotions. Going to little ramen shops after school with Yuta and kicking around a ball in the park with their friends after. The way everything kind of smells like wet tennis balls in the summer.

“I’ve never heard that before,” Ten says, slipping into the conversation. 

Jaehyun turns to him with a sideways grin. He shrugs with one shoulder. “I dunno, it just kind of, like, reminds me of being a kid and running around with my friends in the summer? My mom was busy a lot and I actually joined her for a lot of her shoots around the city and in all these studios. I loved being outside, away from all that. Everything in the studios was so artificial and manufactured. I like that in the summer, the air was dense and had this weird smell to it. It felt real. To me, anyway.”

“Did it smell like wet tennis balls to you?” Sicheng asks his boyfriend.

Yuta laughs and shakes his head. “No way. Summer in Tokyo to me was grass stains and mud and sweat. I was a soccer nut. Still kinda am.” 

Sicheng leans in closer to Yuta and whispers something in his ear. Yuta says something back. They giggle, their heads bent close to each other.

Ten says, “And...we’ve lost them,” and Jaehyun chuckles lightly. He has such a soft laugh, Ten thinks. Everything about him is so soft -- his hair, his eyes, his laugh. The numbers on his timer flicker in glowing green, displaying random instances between nothing and infinity. Ten bobs toward him, the way a moth weaves into the heat and brightness of light, his head a little heavy from the alcohol. “Why is your timer like that?” he asks, that question finally dripping off his tongue.

“Oh,” Jaehyun breathes, his mouth forming a circle. In his eyes, Ten imagines he can see tiny pinprick reflections of green. “Well.”

Ten backtracks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just asked like--”

“It’s fine,” Jaehyun says, that easy smile back on his face. He’s closer to Ten now on the bench they share, and when he puts his elbow on the table next to Ten’s, Ten can feel the heat rising from his skin. “I’m used to people asking.” He twists the chrome band around his wrist, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth and releasing it. “It’s pretty rare; not many people have seen a timer in flux, a timer that keeps resetting. The truth is, no one knows why my timer is like this. Growing up -- my Dad’s a professor, right? -- I was involved in some studies but there were no definitive answers. Lots of theories, though.  First was, I don’t have a soulmate, but then, why not just have me stay at Zero? Then, maybe it’s that I have lots of soulmates? But that doesn’t seem fair, and other people who have multiple soulmates eventually stay at zero after meeting them. Mine keeps fluctuating. It doesn’t count up  _ or  _ down. Some of the theories were really out there.” 

Jaehyun grins in recollection. “One professor thought maybe I was, like, a changeling. Maybe I’m not human, and that’s why. That felt great, growing up,” he says, in a tone that conveys clearly how not-great that was.

Ten touches Jaehyun’s wrist on the table. It’s thrumming with blood. His skin is as smooth as silk, yet dewy. Yielding. Ten pulls his hand back, startled by his own forthrightness. “You seem pretty human to me,” he says, cheeks hot.

“You can’t prove that I’m not a changeling,” Jaehyun jokes, leaning in closer until their shoulders are touching. “So that professor gave up, and after a while, people forgot about me.” Ten frowns, and Jaehyun quickly shakes his head. “It’s not a bad thing. I grew up pretty normal after that. I mean, other than my Mom being a supermodel and flying all around the world.”

“Do you ever wonder if you have a soulmate out there, though?” Ten asks. 

“Sometimes.” Jaehyun sighs. “If I do, I’ll meet them. If I don’t, I’ll still find my own way.”

Ten swallows the lump forming in his throat. Jaehyun’s so open about his timer being different, presenting his difference to the world as an invitation to engage; meanwhile, Ten’s held his own timer close to his chest, scared of letting anyone see the truth. But what’s he so scared of? Judgment? A mean word here and there? Here in New York, that’s probably the extent of it, but back home, the fear runs deeper. Isolation and marginalization. Abandonment. Violence. Ten’s family would never leave him to fend for himself, but he can’t live under their watchful, protective gazes forever. He'll suffocate.

“Are you okay?” Jaehyun asks. His hand, broad and warm, lands on Ten’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Ten sniffs. “I just feel like an idiot.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Jaehyun says.

“I got into a pretty stupid fight with my boyfriend last night,” Ten explains before he can help himself, the words spilling from him as though Jaehyun is a magician pulling endless scarves from his mouth, “and you just made me think of him. He doesn’t get it, why the soulmate thing is so important to me. But I haven’t, like,  _ explained  _ to him why it is, either. Of course he doesn’t get it.” Ten pauses, mouth working. “And  _ I _ don’t really get it, either, where he’s coming from,” he realizes. “But I want to.”

“It sounds like you’ve got a lot to talk about?”

“Yeah,” Ten says, his stomach tightening with a combination of excitement and anxiety and just a sprinkling of dread. What if he does explain it to the very best of his ability, and Johnny still doesn’t get it? What then?

“Is your boyfriend...your soulmate?”

Ten’s eyes dart to Jaehyun’s, but his expression hasn’t changed from one of open curiosity. “No,” Ten chokes out. His fingers play with the straw of his empty glass. He could get another drink, but he remembers his weakly worded promise to Sicheng, and thinks about meeting Johnny later tonight. A part of him would love to show up smashed out of his mind for Johnny to take care of him, but the (smaller, but) more mature part of him knows he should meet him with a functioning brain and mouth. He pushes his glass away from his plate.

Jaehyun’s eyes light up. “Hey, that’s cool. You know how I’m helping my professor this summer?” Ten nods. “Well, I’m thinking about trying to work with him when the year starts up again to research the resilience of couples or groups who  _ aren’t  _ soulmates and those who are. So many people are convinced you need a soulmate to be happy. But there are other pursuits in life that can make you just as happy, even more than. Right?”

“I...guess,” Ten says quietly, a squirmy feeling in his gut. He doesn’t want to admit that he was -- is? -- one of those people.

“Like, I’m pretty happy right now, just talking to you, and I don’t have a soulmate.” Ten doesn’t know what to say to that, and the thing is, Jaehyun doesn’t even look like he’s trying to flirt. He doesn’t look smarmy or pleased with himself. He’s just stating a fact. His charm lies in his unobtrusive genuineness. He is so whole, so completely himself. Ten finds himself admiring that quality. “What about you? Are you happy?”

Ten  _ really  _ doesn’t know what to say to that. The inability to answer with the truth catches him by surprise. 

Jaehyun says, “It’s okay. You don’t have to know, or tell me.”

“I want to,” Ten says.

“Want to what?”

“Be happy.”

Jaehyun nods. He matches the lines of his palm with the lines on Ten’s and laces their fingers together over the table. “I think you’ll be just fine.”

.

They share a mango sticky rice for dessert, which Jaehyun claims is his favorite way to end a meal. Ten takes two bites of the sweet rice and leaves the rest for the others to devour, their spoons scraping up the syrup coating the surface of the plate. He wonders what Johnny is doing right now. Is he out with his friends, having dinner and sharing dessert, too? Has Johnny told Doyoung and Taeyong about last night? Do they think Ten is crazy for how he acted?

He has to go back. As they’re paying their bill, as they’re winding through the crowded tables to the entrance of the restaurant, it’s all he can think about. He has to go back, and talk to Johnny, no matter how much the thought of confrontation makes his insides hurt. 

“We’re going to meet Lucas and Mark for another drink,” Sicheng says when they’re back out on the sidewalk. He tilts his head at Ten. “Wanna come?”

“No, I think I should go,” Ten says, fidgeting with his hands before noticing and stuffing them into his pockets to keep them still. The nervous energy travels to his feet; he rocks on his heels.

“Johnny?” Sicheng asks.

Ten nods.

His friend’s gaze softens. “You gonna be okay?”

Ten nods again, faster, as though to assure himself he will be. Standing next to him, Ten realizes Jaehyun is nearly as tall as Johnny is, and he has to tilt his chin up to meet the other boy’s eyes when he speaks.

“You’ll be okay,” Jaehyun says with certainty. His hand falls to Ten’s shoulder, squeezing affectionately, and Ten stumbles forward to wrap his arms around him awkwardly.

“I’m really happy I met you,” Ten mumbles into Jaehyun’s chest. 

Jaehyun’s voice rumbles through him when he says, “Me, too.”

He lets go, steps back. Sicheng gives him a hug, too, and leaves him with a whispered, “Call me if you need anything.” 

As they meander off in the direction of their next bar, leaving Ten in front of the restaurant, Yuta shouts over his shoulder, “Don’t forget you’re wearing my underwear!” and cackles when Ten trips over nothing as he turns in the direction of the NYU dorms.

Then, Ten’s alone. He starts to walk west, past the tiny bars and restaurants lining the street and past the crowds of laughing, shouting groups of people waiting for tables or more people or the next best thing. He pulls out his phone and dials Johnny, who answers on the second ring.

“Ten?” Johnny says, after a moment of stillness. Ten’s frozen. He hadn’t expected Johnny to answer so quickly. Maybe he hadn’t expected Johnny to answer at all. 

“Johnny,” he breathes. Then a taxi honks loudly on his right, and Ten jumps back from the edge of the crosswalk, onto the pavement. The light hadn’t been red. “Shit!”

“Ten?” Johnny asks again, a note of worry in his voice. “Where are you?”

“I’m coming back,” Ten says as his heart rate slowly returns to normal. Cars streak past him in a blur of motion and color. “Sorry. I almost got hit.” He laughs.

“That’s not funny, Ten,” Johnny says seriously. “Are you far? Are you okay?”

Ten sobers, swallowing his laughter. “It’s not funny,” he agrees. “Sorry, shit. _Sorry_. I’m not far. I’m walking now. Are you in the dorm? Is it...okay?”

“For you to come back? Of course it is, Ten.”

“I wasn’t sure.”

Ten chews on his lips, hearing Johnny sigh. The light turns red and the crosswalk sign turns white. Ten starts walking again, feeling something start to rise up in his chest when Johnny says, “If you’re not back in 10 minutes I’m going out to look for you myself. I missed you so, so bad.”

“You said you’d wait as long as I needed,” Ten reminds him, walking faster now.

“Please only need 10 more minutes,” Johnny says.

“I’m around the corner.” He passes by the Arts building, the overpriced deli, the sushi place that’s open until 3 in the morning. He sees the bright, garish lights that illuminate the steps to their dorm.

“I’m downstairs,” Johnny says, and there he is, his hair mussed, his face framed by his glasses. He’s wearing gym shorts and a tank and he's standing in the slippers he likes to wear around their tiny dorm room and Ten’s heart feels like bursting in his chest when he steps up to him, keeping an arm’s length between them.

“Hi,” Ten says into his phone.

“Hi,” Johnny says, and a moment later Ten hears it again through his phone’s speaker. Together, they hang up. Johnny holds his hand out for Ten to take, his smile the gentlest of curves across his lips. “Coming?”

.


	18. Chapter 18

Ten's not sure how they end up back in their dorm room. He spends most of the walk down the hallways and the time spent in the elevator staring at Johnny when the other's not looking, startling every once in a while when Johnny catches his gaze and smiles at him, or asks him if he’s okay, or squeezes his hand. Then, quite suddenly, they’re sitting on Johnny’s bed, side by side. Dinner with Sicheng and Yuta and Jaehyun feels like it happened ages ago.

“Ten,” Johnny’s saying beside him. The mattress creaks as he shifts his weight forward carefully, turning to him with a plaintive look in his eyes.

“Yes?”

Johnny's hand is warm, his palm forming a familiar shape against Ten's cheek. “Are you alright? You're quiet.”

Like that night in the park, the stars glittering and so far away in the night, the world spinning and Ten's mouth spitting words about love and fate and destiny. He wonders if Johnny is being so careful with him now because he's worried Ten will snap, will hurt himself, because he's done it before, or if Johnny's always been this careful. Surely, he's always so gentle. Ten can't remember a time he hasn't felt like the most precious shard of glass cupped between Johnny's hands.

“I'm thinking,” Ten says finally. He leans into Johnny's palm with a sigh.

“About?”

“How much I love you.”

Johnny's smile is sad and a little bit resigned. His thumb brushes over Ten's cheek, slow and deliberate. There's something final about it. Ten's heart clutches at the tendrils of this feeling, and when Johnny pulls away Ten surges forward with a pained cry, “No, don’t--”

Ten kisses him. At first, Johnny's mouth is frozen against his, lips parted in shock as Ten dips his tongue in between, but a desperate whine spills from Ten's mouth, and the noise seems to spring something alive within him. Johnny drops his hands to Ten's waist, and with a grunt, he pulls him into his lap. Ten straddles him, and groans against Johnny's mouth when Johnny's arm wraps around the small of his back and tightens, pushing their bodies together. He cups Johnny's face with his hands and kisses him until he's heaving with breath, until his head’s spinning. Kissing Johnny is more intoxicating than any drink he's ever drunk, headier than the strongest of perfumes. He wishes he could open his mouth wide enough to consume him whole, or maybe the other way around, and that way, they could be inside each other, with nothing but skin and blood between them.

“Ten--”

Johnny peppers him with kisses, trying to speak between each firey press of his lips to Ten's skin and Ten's frantic, returning barrage.

“Ten--”

“What? What--”

“Stop for a second--”

Ten whines again, rolling his hips against Johnny's, deep satisfaction coiling like a snake inside of his gut at Johnny's answering groan. “You sure?” he asks, because he doesn't want to stop. Because he had felt the way Johnny wanted to pull away, and that terrifies him. How can he fix this?

“Ten,” Johnny says again, taking hold of Ten's wrists and pulling his hands from around his face. He turns when Ten tries to kiss him again, so that his lips land on his cheek. Ten stops, too aware of the way his pulse flutters under Johnny's grip, of how he always does this, because it's easier for him to sleep with someone than to open up. Shame flares up to the surface of his skin, red-hot and horrible. He twists against Johnny's hold, and Johnny lets go immediately.

“Shit, is your wrist okay?” Johnny asks.

“Hm?” Ten lifts his arm for Johnny to inspect and watches the expression fall on the other’s face when he sees the purple bruises circling his wrist. Oh, Ten had almost forgotten they were there. “It’s fine,” he mutters, dropping his arm quickly and tucking it against his stomach, folding his other arm over it to hide the bruising from view. Slamming his own wrist into an unforgiving metal bar hadn’t been his proudest moment, and it’s definitely not something he wants Johnny to remember him by. He lowers his eyes.

“Is it?” Johnny questions. “Ten, please look at me.”

Ten does, and the full force of their impending, inevitable conversation crashes into Ten’s chest.

He’s not sure he can do this. Not when Johnny looks like that, soft and a little worn, frayed at the edges. Can’t they just go back to the beginning of summer, getting lost inside Target, buying things for their shared dorm that they’ll never actually use? The hipster-scented candle still sits atop his dresser, never once lit. But then, Ten thinks, they wouldn't have had that day in the park, the sun sitting on their shoulders, wine in their bellies, a buzz in the air. They wouldn’t have had that night in the studio, their breaths fogging up the mirrored walls as Johnny pressed Ten against his own reflection.

There’s pressure building in his heart like a geyser, and when he cries it gushes out of him, raw and aching. How he wishes things could be easy between them.

“Sweetheart,” Johnny whispers, touching Ten’s shoulder, and that’s all the invitation Ten needs to shift and move, to push himself against Johnny again, throwing his arms around Johnny’s neck and clinging to him.

“I’m sorry, Johnny,” Ten sobs into Johnny’s skin.

“That’s my line,” Johnny says quietly. His hand rubs circles against Ten’s back; with his other, he manages to shift them into a more comfortable position, propped against the wall with Ten cradled over his thighs. Like this, Ten can rest against his chest, ear pressed to Johnny’s sternum and Johnny’s arms wrapped around his frame. “What are you sorry for, hm?”

Ten hiccups, tears running down his face now in a consistent stream. “For being so hard to be with.”

Johnny’s arms tighten around him. “Ten--”

“No, listen,” Ten interrupts, insists. He takes a shuddering breath and it feels like trying to breathe underwater. “I’m hard to be with because...because I never actually thought I could _be with_ someone. It closed me off, and that’s not fair to you. I wanted you to understand me completely but kept hiding the things that I wanted you to understand. Does that make sense?” Ten scrubs at his eyes, frustrated with the words coming out of his mouth. It’s hard to explain because he’s never had to explain it to anyone before. No one that matters has ever really, truly cared.

Johnny’s arms soften around him. His hand lifts to cup at Ten’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft skin under Ten’s eye with a touch softer than feathers. “I think so, and it’s okay. I get it. And I wanted to say sorry, too. For a lot of things.”

“For what?”

“For minimizing this whole soulmate thing, for one,” Johnny says. “It’s important to you and...I didn’t listen when you were trying to tell me how much it’s hurt you in the past, how much it’s still hurting you.”

Ten sits up a little straighter in Johnny’s lap, finally making eye contact with him, startled to find Johnny’s eyes watery and red. “You _did_ , though. You listened when I told you about Kun, and about other Zeros.”

“But it didn’t, like, _connect_.” Johnny’s eyes are bright and wet behind his glasses, lit from within. He says, “I did some research.”

Ten narrows his eyes and drops his chin to Johnny’s shoulder, huffing. “So what?”

“I wanted to understand what you were talking about. Why soulmates are so important to you. So I looked it up.” He pauses, chest rising and falling with a deep, stabilizing breath. “I didn’t know being a Zero outside of the States was so hard, okay? I mean, most of South America is okay, and some countries in Europe and Africa and Asia, and, honestly, I'm going off Wiki so it's probably not the best information out there, but -- Zeros don’t have marriage rights in Thailand, right? And there was something about property rights I didn’t totally understand…”

“It’s basically that I can’t inherit or own property,” Ten says, willing himself to melt against Johnny’s chest, eyes glazing over.

“I didn’t know,” Johnny says again.

Ten sighs. The tears have stopped, and he feels as parched as though he’d walked for days in the desert without water. He curls up against Johnny, wrung out and exhausted. “Now, you know,” he says, miserable at the reminder of what's waiting for him, and what's _not_ waiting for him, back home. “How does that change anything?”

Johnny cups the back of Ten’s head and drops a kiss to his forehead before wrapping his arms around Ten securely again. “Another thing I’m sorry for -- that I said things or acted ways that made you think you couldn’t talk to me. The parts you said you’re hiding from me, I want to see them. What are you scared of, and why? Tell me, so we can face it together.”

“You really want to know?”

“Of course I do.”

Ten’s not sure if Johnny realizes he’s rocking him in his arms, the motion soothing and primal. He places his hand over Johnny’s heart, and says quietly, “I’m scared that even though you love me now, you won’t always. I’m scared that in the end you’ll choose me, and I won’t be good enough for you, and that you’ll realize this slowly and that you’ll start to resent me for it.” When Johnny doesn’t say anything, Ten continues, the words unstoppable as a boulder rolling down a mountain, picking up speed as it nears the bottom. “I’m scared that I’m keeping you from something that will make you happier than I ever could. That’s what I’m scared of the most. That I’m selfish, and that you won’t be happy. More than anything else in the world, I want you to be happy.”

Still, Johnny says nothing. Ten can feel his heart beating under his palm, slow and steady. He closes his eyes and pictures the rhythmic beat of waves crashing against a beach. He is spent. He’s said his piece, and now that his vulnerabilities have been laid bare he wants nothing more than to crawl into a tiny hole and stay there like a creature in hibernation until the season is over.

Johnny breathes. The backs of his fingers trace over Ten’s temple, the shell of his ear. He says, “Everything you just said shows how unselfish you are, Ten. That you’re thinking of my happiness over your own.”

“I just want you to be happy,” Ten says again, pads of his fingers digging into Johnny’s shirt. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. So, so much.”

Ten’s eyelids flutter open. He pushes himself up and tilts Johnny’s face toward him with a light touch of his fingers against the other’s chin. They kiss. “When you meet your soulmate,” Ten says, “promise me you’ll be honest with me. If you like them or not. If you want them or not. Whatever happens, just don’t leave me in the dark.”

“I won’t leave you at all.”

Ten’s drags his thumb across Johnny’s full bottom lip. Another kiss. “Don’t say that. You haven’t met them yet. You don’t know.”

“I know that I love you,” Johnny whispers. He presses his lips to Ten’s thumb. Kisses each of his knuckles, one by one. “I know it.”

If only they could freeze time and play it back, Ten would ask for Johnny’s kisses against his lips and his knuckles for eternity. He would say, “I know that I love you,” over and over again. But the timer counts down, the seconds tick away, and Ten can’t keep trying to hoard these moments like grains of sand in an hourglass, to be turned over at his whim. He has to keep going. He kisses Johnny again, on his lips, eyes open, and when he pulls away he doesn’t have to say anything for Johnny to know what he wants.

They undress each other slowly, each piece of clothing shed coupled with burning kisses placed on the skin revealed. By the time they’re naked they’re both hard and dripping, yearning for each other. Ten settles himself across Johnny’s lap and pushes forward until his dick is pressed flat against Johnny’s stomach.

“I love you,” Johnny says in a fevered whisper across Ten’s cheek. His hands grip at the muscle of Ten’s ass, pulling him closer.

“I love you,” Ten says back, grinding his hips against Johnny's in a slow, sensuous circle. He wedges his hand between their bellies and manages to wrap his fingers around them both. He can’t close his fist completely, but it’s still heavenly when he strokes up and twists, and they groan into each other’s mouths.

“Fuck, Ten,” Johnny grunts, the breath punched out of him. He throws his hand to the side, to the table beside the bed, and yanks the drawer open. Ten doesn’t stop working his fist over them, rolling his hips, leaving open-mouthed kisses all over Johnny’s face, his neck, his shoulders. When Johnny finds the lube and a condom, Ten sinks his teeth into the meat of Johnny’s shoulder and doesn’t let go. Johnny’s hips buck, his dick twitches in Ten’s hand, and Ten, enthralled, bites down a little harder. “Fuck, fuck fuck--”

Somehow, in the midst of this all, Johnny has uncapped the lube and spread a generous amount over his fingers. Ten hisses when he feels Johnny’s hands gripping at his ass, pulling his cheeks apart, and then Johnny’s sinking a wet finger into him, slow and easy. Ten shudders, jaw relaxing against Johnny’s shoulder. “More,” he pleads.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Johnny promises. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“More, please,” Ten begs, pushing back against Johnny’s finger and feeling it sink into him till the last knuckle. He breathes wetly against Johnny’s neck, moving his hips, fucking himself on Johnny’s finger and into his own hand.

Despite how prettily he begs, Johnny works him open slowly on his fingers, using the lube liberally and generously. Ten knows Johnny is big. He also knows he can handle him just fine. “Now,” Ten demands when Johnny’s been keeping him on edge with three fingers in his ass for just about as long as he can take. “I want you.”

“Put the condom on for me, then,” Johnny says.

Ten scrambles to do so, hands shaking as he tries to rip the packet open. Finally, he manages after three tries, and rolls the condom onto Johnny with a easy, tight stroke. Johnny quakes against the wall, clenching his eyes shut and breathing in deep, and when he opens them again his eyes are dark and anticipating.

“How do you want me?” Johnny asks.

His voice guts Ten completely. “Like this,” Ten says, and rises up onto his knees, one hand on Johnny’s shoulder and the other guiding Johnny into him. He sinks down slowly, so slowly, and has to pause, panting and breaking out in sweat at his temples, when the head of Johnny’s dick first pushes past the stretched ring of his hole.

“Slow, baby,” Johnny murmurs, his dry hand rubbing over Ten’s side.

“Yeah.” Ten shakes. He sinks down further. Johnny’s thick, and the stretch burns something wonderful. When he’s fully seated, he feels like he’s run a marathon, and he falls against Johnny’s chest, boneless. He feels so, incredibly full. “Kiss me, John.”

Johnny does so, his hands resting on Ten’s waist, neither pushing nor pulling, just waiting for Ten to adjust. When Ten’s hips move so he can press himself more fully against Johnny’s mouth, they both still at the wave of bliss that rolls over them. Ten experiments with it, shifting his hips slowly, jaw hanging loose as each tiny movement makes him feel something new.

“Do you feel good?” Johnny asks in a voice like smoke.

“Yeah,” Ten pants, starting to bounce on Johnny’s cock. “Fuck. Yeah. Feels so good.”

“God, you’re perfect.” Johnny pushes his hips up then, meeting Ten’s leisurely pace, and Ten almost blacks out at the sudden rush of it, static before his eyes and fingers tingling. Johnny chuckles. “Liked that?”

Ten mewls, and Johnny takes it as his cue to shift them down on the bed just enough for him to have leverage to fuck up into Ten in earnest. He digs his heels into the mattress and thrusts his hips up, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed, until Ten relegates himself to burying his face in Johnny’s neck and moaning, arms around Johnny’s neck for something to hold onto. “I wanna come,” Ten says in a wet voice.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” Ten nods against Johnny’s neck, eyes wet.

Johnny sits up and rolls them over. His hands push at Ten’s inner thighs, holding him splayed open. Ten’s back arches off the mattress when Johnny slips into him again. And then Johnny’s hand is around his dick, wet and slick with lube. He strokes him at the same pace as his thrusts. Ten throws his arms around Johnny’s neck, bringing him closer, whispering into his ear. He loves him. He wants him. He makes Ten feel so good. Ten’s orgasm builds so quickly and suddenly that it catches him by surprise. He cries out, thighs clamping around Johnny’s waist as he spills into Johnny’s hand and over his own stomach. Johnny fucks him through it, and his hand doesn’t stop, and Ten tries to keep rolling his hips to help him along. He feels it when Johnny comes with a groan, spilling into his condom.

Ten's mind goes blank with Johnny still rutting into him, and he comes to kissing Johnny’s forehead. He fits his arms around Johnny's shoulders again and pulls him down to lay over his body. Johnny’s still inside of him. He lets his knees fall to the side, shifting and feeling how Johnny’s dick drags at his walls. When Johnny moves to pull out, Ten clutches him tighter. “Not yet,” he says, and Johnny sinks back down over him, kissing his wet cheeks, pushing his hair back from his forehead and pressing kisses to Ten’s eyebrows.

“Are you crying, sweetheart?”

Ten shakes his head, even though he is. Maybe after tonight, the tears won’t fall so easily, but right now there’s nothing in the world that could hold them back. Then Johnny kisses him on the mouth, a long, hard press of lips against lips, and Ten gasps when Johnny twitches inside of him.

“Wanna go again,” Ten says, a statement posed as a question, and he feels a sigh flutter out of him when Johnny shifts his hips, fucking him shallowly.

“Need a new condom," Johnny says.

"Okay, but after that."

Johnny kisses his cheek. He cups his face in his hands and brushes the tip of his nose against Ten's, lips hovering over his lips. "Anything you want, Ten.”

What he wants is this: to be remade into something that knows how to be whole. He thinks, maybe, he’s finally starting to see the blurry edges of the shape he will take.

.


	19. Chapter 19

Ten’s stomach is what wakes him from an otherwise peaceful slumber. One moment he's dreaming of Johnny as they sit poolside sipping lemonades from chilled glasses (Johnny's shirtless and in swim trunks, his skin tanned and glowing, his smile bright and pure, his hair a little lightened from days and hours in the sun; Ten's curled against his side, an easy arm draped behind Johnny's waist. He spits lemonade from his mouth when Johnny makes him laugh, sprays it all over Johnny's chest, but all Johnny does is shout and drag them both into the pool. They kiss underwater. It tastes like chlorine. It tastes like lemonade, sweet and tart. Johnny pulls him up for air and--), and the next moment Ten's awake and his stomach is so tight and empty that it feels like it's pinching his insides. 

His organs are shrinking! He groans into his pillow -- no, that's Johnny's forearm -- and wraps his arms around his own naked middle, pressing against his offending, hungry stomach. 

Johnny shifts behind him. His hand falls over Ten's hip, kneading gently. “You awake?” Johnny mumbles against the back of Ten's head.

Ten hums, not bothering to open his eyes. He feels Johnny pressing sleepy half-kisses to his hair, the backs of his ears. It tickles, and he swats at Johnny's face like it's a mosquito hovering around his head. 

Johnny chuckles in that low, rough, not-yet-warmed-up voice of his, the sound like thunder in an encroaching thunderstorm, a rumble in his chest. He molds himself against Ten’s back. “You’re awake,” he confirms, kissing the top of Ten’s head.

“I'm awake, and I'm hungry,” Ten complains. “And my ass hurts and it's all your fault, Johnny.”

“Aw, babe.” He cups his hand around the gentle curve of Ten’s ass and gives it a squeeze. “Want me to kiss it better?”

“I don't want you anywhere near my ass today,” Ten says flatly.

“Hm, what about this, then?” Johnny's hand moves to Ten's belly. He smooths his palm down his skin slowly, and Ten's breath catches when Johnny cups his soft cock. “This far enough away from your ass?”

“That's allowed.” Ten's voice hitches when Johnny applies teasing pressure. He pushes his hips forward, into Johnny's hand, and groans when Johnny wraps his fingers around him in response. “Yeah, that's definitely allowed.”

“Mm, you're so cute,” Johnny whispers against his ear.

Ten squirms in the security of Johnny's arms, his dick slowly stirring. “You know what else would be cute?”

“What?”

“Your mouth where your fingers are.”

“You want me to blow you?”

Ten nods, flushing and letting out a squeak when Johnny darts forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

“It would be my pleasure,” Johnny says, removing his hand to Ten's confusion and dismay. He proceeds to roll his body over Ten's body, and Ten wheezes as Johnny's weight compresses the air from his chest, surprised and just a tad alarmed.

“I didn't say to kill me in the process!” 

“Oh, did you not?” There's a smug grin on Johnny's face when he lands on Ten's other side. 

Ten wants to kiss him so badly he forgets how hungry he is. He cups his hand against Johnny's cheek, feeling how his cheek forms to his palm. “I think I'd let you kill me if you asked,” he says, only half serious. Only half serious, perhaps.

Johnny turns his face to press his lips to Ten's palm. “Don't say things like that.”

“I'll just think them instead, then.”

Johnny sighs, pressing another kiss to Ten's palm, reverent and soft. His lips travel to his wrist, where the timer gleams. He kisses that, too, with a tenderness that makes Ten's breath hitch. “Never mind, say them so I know what you're thinking. I'll listen. What are you thinking now?”

He is thinking that the way Johnny looks at him makes him feel like he could dissolve into a sunbeam, weightless as air, refracting light. He's thinking about the pucker of Johnny's lips, how his grin can be so kittenish and sweet, yet his smirk is so sharp the edge of it could cut through glass. He’s thinking about how Johnny makes him feel, so thickly swaddled with love.

“I'm thinking I asked you to suck me off, like, ages ago.”

This makes Johnny throw his head back and laugh, and Ten admires the line of his throat, exposed like that and vulnerable. “All right, I hear you,” Johnny says, and then he’s pushing himself down along Ten’s body, leaving a trail of kisses over his chest and stomach. His hands knead the soft flesh over Ten’s hip bones as he nudges Ten onto his back and gets between his legs. 

At first, Ten tries to watch, but the angle makes his neck hurt, and propping himself up onto his elbows makes his arms tremble. Johnny takes him, soft, into his mouth, works him into hardness with his wet, warm tongue and long fingers. His breath flutters over Ten and makes him twitch. Ten lies back and throws his forearm over his eyes, his other hand coming up to cover his own mouth to muffle the embarrassing moans and squeaks and gasps leaving his lips. His thighs relax and splay open under Johnny’s hands, and then his knees jump up, his thighs trying to clench, when Johnny sucks him down as deep as he’ll go. “Ah, Johnny!”

Johnny mumbles something unintelligible, his lips still around Ten’s cock. When he hums, his throat vibrates, and Ten’s hips buck against his face. Johnny pulls off quickly with a heaved breath that turns into a coughing fit as Ten sits up, mortified and worried. 

Ten reaches for Johnny's face. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry--”

Johnny laughs roughly. His voice is wrecked when he speaks and he looks at Ten from underneath his dark lashes, cheeks cupped within Ten's palms. “Don’t be. That was good.”

Ten blinks, slowly laying back down. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, and takes Ten into his mouth again.

.

Ten wakes for the second time that day because of his stomach, again. If it was a little kitten of hunger seeking attention before, it’s now a lion on a rampage. His stomach grumbles so loudly he thinks the people dorming downstairs and upstairs probably heard it. Johnny definitely hears it, and he pops awake with his hand on Ten’s hip and a frown on his face.

“Oh yeah, you mentioned you were hungry earlier,” he says, seemingly disappointed with himself. He hugs Ten closer, their chests touching, their hearts beating against each other.

Ten feels like a cooked noodle. He wills his arm to move but it just lies there between his and Johnny’s bodies. “I’m  _ so  _ hungry,” Ten admits, head spinning a little every time he blinks. 

“Should we get breakfast?”

Ten nods, and Johnny rolls away from him and off the bed, despite Ten’s weak protests. He feels himself being pulled up into a sitting position, but when Johnny lets go, he collapses like a house of cards back onto the bed, spots dancing in his vision. He blinks again, dizzy with it. “Can you, like, bring me food?” 

“But it’s so nice out. Don’t you want to come out with me?” Johnny’s already pulling on his boxers and gym shorts, covering up his glorious thighs. 

Ten sighs, hating himself a little for letting himself get into this state, if only because of the inconvenience for his boyfriend. The sex has been really, really nice. Even the transparent communication and long moments of at-times uncomfortable vulnerability. But now he’s remembering how all he’s eaten pretty much all weekend are the little bits of chicken he ate for dinner yesterday. It hasn’t been on purpose. He’s just been hungover and stupid and he forgot. “I’m really dizzy and I think I’ll faint if I get up,” Ten admits quietly to Johnny, unable to meet his eyes.

Johnny sits on the edge of the bed heavily, making Ten bounce on flimsy the mattress. “Baby,” Johnny says. “Did you not eat yesterday?”

“Maybe. I had some food. But I was really...preoccupied.”

Johnny hums a little in understanding. He leans over to brush Ten’s hair back from his forehead so that he can kiss it. “I’ll pick something up for us,” he says, their lips close enough to touch. “But we should talk about this, too.”

“Too much talking,” Ten complains.

Johnny says, “It’s good for us,” and Ten has to admit he’s right, so he says nothing in response. He makes a sad little mewl when Johnny puts on a shirt, because now he can’t see his beautiful chest, either. Johnny picks up on this quickly, grinning. “You like my body that much?”

“I like your body that much,” Ten confirms. “And other stuff, too.”

“And other stuff, too,” Johnny repeats with slow consideration, like he’s trying out the taste of something new on his tongue. The smile that breaks across his face make Ten feel like he's finally come up for air after too long sitting at the bottom of the pool. “Same, Ten.”

He kisses him again before he leaves, as though to prove a point.

.

Shortly after Johnny leaves, Ten’s phone buzzes on the nightstand, and he rolls over in bed to reach for it. He expects it to be a text from Johnny, asking him what he wants for breakfast, but instead it’s a message from an unknown user on Instagram, the display pic a puppy. Ten opens the message, grinning when he realizes who it is. 

_ Hope you don’t mind Sicheng shared your ig with me! Good morning! Your dance covers are so cool!! _

The abundance of exclamation points seems at odds with the calm, thoughtful boy Ten met last night at dinner. Before responding, Ten quickly scrolls through some of Jaehyun’s posts, liking Jaehyun’s selfies and a couple of his photos of his daily life -- studying at a coffee shop, meeting a cute dog in the park, a pretty sunset over the city. Some of the posts are captioned with Jaehyun’s winding self-reflections, and some are captioned with single words or emojis. 

Ten swipes back to his direct messages and pictures Jaehyun as a puppy, tail wagging as he eagerly awaits Ten’s response.  _ Good morning! Didn’t take you for a stalker _ , he sends. 

Jaehyun’s reply is immediate:  _ I’m not! We’re friends, right? _

_ Of course😊 _

_ Anyway, Sicheng and Yuta showed me your dance covers yesterday to prepare me for the showcase or whatever... _

Ten groans, rolling onto his side and rubbing the heel of his palm against his forehead, embarrassed.  _ It’s just a performance! _

_ I’m glad they showed me! Now I feel prepared to take it all in 🤩  _

_ Don’t set your expectations too high please! _

_ I know you’ll be great _

There’s a slight lull in the conversation as Ten lets the compliment settle into his skin, warming him all over. Somehow, Ten can tell Jaehyun is thinking, and his suspicions are proven correct when he sees Jaehyun’s next question.

_ How did things go with your boyfriend? _

Ten thinks back on last night. He can’t quite believe how well Johnny handled things, nor how peaceful Ten feels now, after the reconciliation. They talked about things that were important. They listened to each other. They clung to each other in sleep, though not too tightly. Ten loves him, and Johnny loves Ten, and for the first time Ten thinks maybe they’re really in this together. That he’s not alone in his feelings and fears and wants, pushing against a wall threatening to come down around him. That Johnny’s here, pushing with him.

_ Really, really well, _ he tells Jaehyun.  _ So well. _

_ That’s good! I’m glad you were able to talk it out. _

_ Oh we did more than talk 😁, _ Ten sends.

_ Sorry, I don’t think we’re that level friends yet. _

_ Jaehyun! _

_ Just kidding~ _

Jaehyun is easy to talk to. Just like last night, the conversation flows between them easily, without barriers, and Ten learns about what his friends got up after he left. Apparently, everyone approves of Mark, who impressed the group by being the only person who could easily keep up with the leaps in conversation Lucas tends to make, especially when he's excited. No break dance challenges were suggested, but Lucas and Mark did challenge each other to chug their full mugs of beer in under ten seconds as Yuta cheered them on and Sicheng timed them. 

_ Gross, _ Ten sends, wrinkling his nose at the thought.

_ I know...They wanted to go out some more, but the three of us headed back to Sicheng’s after the bar.  _

_ Sorry I missed it _

_ I’m sure we’ll have more opportunities to meet up!  _ Jaehyun responds cheerfully.

Ten chuckles to himself, picturing Jaehyun as a puppy again -- the image is too perfectly suited -- and stifles his laughter when he hears keys jingling at the door.  _ Johnny’s back with food _ , Ten sends Jaehyun quickly.  _ Talk later 😘 _

“What’s so funny?” Johnny walks in with two full plastic bags in his hands, and they crinkle as he nudges the door closed with his hip and shuffles over to the bed. 

“Nothing. Just chatting with a new friend.” Ten pushes himself up against the wall, his head only spinning a little bit this time. He grins when Johnny sits next to him and drags the nightstand closer for him to lay out the spread of food options for them both. “I think you’d like him,” Ten says, nuzzling his chin against Johnny’s shoulder. “You’d get along.”

“Yeah?” Johnny takes out a couple of boxes of pre-made sandwiches, four different kinds of onigiri, multiple bottles of water and coconut water, and various bags of snacks and chips and sweets. “I’d love to meet him.” 

Ten watches the feast grow bigger and bigger on the nightstand, amused as he hugs Johnny’s arm to his chest. “Are you feeding an army?”

“I didn’t know what you’d want.” Johnny shrugs. 

“So you bought the whole store?”

Johnny laughs and un-threads his arm from between Ten’s clutches, maneuvering them both so that he can hug Ten’s body against his at the waist. “You said you were hungry! And you didn’t put on any clothes while I was out!” 

Ten raises his eyebrows at him. “I could, I suppose. If you really wanted me to.”

“No, I’m okay with this.”

The smugness rises up within Ten, and he throws Johnny back the very same words he’d spoken just a short while ago: “You like my body that much?”

Johnny rolls his eyes at him. “You know I do. I love you.”

Ten gasps at how easily Johnny tosses out the words, like he knows Ten will be ready to catch them and slip them into his pockets. He wants pockets full of Johnny's words. He hopes it feels like this every time, the phrase catching him unawares and hooking him in the belly, lifting him up, higher and higher into the air, not even thinking about the long way down.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone who's still reading, thank you <3 i see the light at the end


	20. Chapter 20

By some miracle, Johnny and Ten find an empty bench in the park and claim it, putting their styrofoam boxes of street meat smothered in white sauce and hot sauce between them. Johnny hugs a knee to his chest, body angled toward Ten, because he's too big to fit on the bench comfortably with his legs criss-crossed, like the way Ten's sitting. Summer bears down on them with the same heft of a thick winter coat, the heat oppressive and clinging, but the sun streaks light across the city from its position right at the horizon, golden and warm, spearing through the negative space between buildings and spreading like a blanket over the green, and the way it makes the city shimmer makes it worth it. The fountain in the center of the park spits water half a story into the air, and every once in a while when the wind blows right, the mist from the spray brushes Ten's cheeks. Children and adults and dogs alike splash around in the shallow fountain waters, carefree in the perfection of twilight.

Johnny's skin has bronzed in the sun, and he looks as marvelous as an idol's statue, cast in precious metal. Ten takes a moment to admire the defined lines of his shoulders and arms, bared in a blue tank, the sweep of his eyelashes fanning over his cheeks, the pinched pucker of his mouth that always makes him look like he's about to say something either very cutting or very dumb. Johnny spoons some chicken and rice into his mouth, leaving white sauce behind at one corner of his lips, and Ten reaches out to swipe at the remnants with his thumb, sucking the sauce from his finger.

Johnny’s eyes follow his thumb hungrily. “I'll miss this,” Johnny says. 

“Shut up,” Ten says, the simple statement making something sharp and sudden rise up inside of his chest.

“Okay,” Johnny agrees. 

They eat their dinners. The chicken sticks on the way down Ten's throat, so he's only able to finish half of the generous portion. Johnny provides commentary on the people who walk by their spot on their bench, making up stories about each. Some are so outlandish that Ten nearly topples backward off the bench, roaring in laughter, and some fall a little flat. But that's okay, because another person will walk by, and Johnny will have another chance to change Ten's world. Besides, Ten loves all Johnny's stories, even the bad ones.

“What do you think people say about us when they see us?” Ten asks when there's a lull in approaching pedestrians. 

Johnny hums, puts his fork down in his empty styrofoam box, and leans back onto his hands, both feet flat on the ground now. He tilts his head to the side, thinking. “I think...they think, wow that really little guy is with that really big guy, huh.”

Ten dives forward to pinch Johnny on his bicep, and Johnny laughs, jerking back with a huge smile on his face. “I'm being serious!” Ten whines.

“Serious? Okay.” Johnny sobers so quickly that Ten worries he actually hurt him with his vicious fingers, but then Johnny says, “I think they think, wow, the big guy loves the little guy so much, how's he ever gonna face this city without him?”

The sun finally sinks below the horizon, and the lights in the park flicker on, their electric buzzing thickening the dense, weighty air. “Stupid,” Ten whispers, “it's the other way around.”

Johnny moves the boxes from the bench to the ground, and Ten closes the distance between them, his knees pressed into the hard wood as he fits himself into Johnny's lap. He doesn't care that they're in public. He has to kiss him, right now, like this, so he does, and Johnny's lips are so soft against his, Ten's fingers playing with the tiny short baby hairs at the nape of Johnny's neck. He tastes like garlic and white sauce. His skin is sticky with the humidity in the air, his hair damp from sweat, from the mist drifting from the fountain. Ten kisses him regardless, imprinting this moment on the backs of his eyelids.

“Johnny,” he says, when they pull apart -- not for air, but so they can look at each other fully. “I'm gonna miss this, too.”

.

They go back to their room in the dorms. They shower, climb into bed with hair still wet, naked and tangled. Kissing Johnny is no longer a conscious action or choice, but a state of being. Ten can kiss Johnny, or not; he can exist, or not. Johnny’s skin is Ten’s skin is their skin, and when it is over and done, they are each other. How curious to look into Johnny’s eyes and to see himself looking back, blinking slowly with flushed cheeks, contented. Loved.

.

“Did Taeyong get back to you,” Ten mumbles later against Johnny’s forearm where his face is hidden in the crook of Johnny’s elbow, “about that thing.”

“What?” Johnny huffs, the word skimming over the top of Ten’s hair and ruffling the strands. “What thing? Finding an apartment?”

“Yeah, that,” Ten mutters and stifles a yawn. The world is dark outside and they have been laying in each other’s arms for possibly hours, but Ten doesn’t want to go to sleep because going to sleep means it will sooner be tomorrow, then the next day, and the next. The whirring of the fan in their window is like a metronome keeping time with their heartbeats. He has the flickering thought that his back pressed to Johnny’s front feels like the most natural position in the world.

“He did. He said he knows someone who’ll be looking for a roommate about when they’re kicking us out of the dorms. Says he’s mostly normal.”

“Have you met him?”

“No,” Johnny says, sighing against Ten and shifting his arms to hug Ten around his middle. Ten feels him press his lips against the back of his neck. “We’re supposed to meet this weekend, I think. Name’s Taeil…?”

Ten’s stomach flips over. This weekend. Friday’s the performance, and in these past few hours of bliss he’s pushed to the back of his mind the moment he’s been dreading all summer, but now it comes rushing back to him with all the force of a truck speeding down the highway and colliding into a parked car, obliterating it. “Oh,” Ten says in a small voice. “This weekend, huh?”

“Yeah.” Johnny shifts again, wriggling against Ten’s back to be closer. He must have felt Ten tense in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“Tern’s coming on Wednesday,” Ten lies. Not about her arrival, but about what’s wrong.

“I know, you must be so excited.” Johnny chuckles against the shell of his ear, and Ten shudders at the feeling, at the way a shiver lances down his spine. “And I’m  _ so  _ excited to meet her. But it’s not that, is it?”

“Johnny…”

“C’mon, Ten,” Johnny coaxes patiently, “I know you. Your tells. What’s bothering you, love?”

Last night, Johnny had said he'd wanted to know all the parts of Ten he'd kept hidden from him, and Ten had shared a sliver of his shadowed thoughts, fully prepared for Johnny to recoil from him from what he'd shared, but Johnny hadn't turned away at all. He'd held him closer, listened. Pet his hair and called him sweetheart. Ten wants that, forever.  His fingers find the timer on Johnny's wrist and he lifts Johnny's forearm so that it's level with his eyes. He stills his nerves with a deep inhale. 

“Your timer runs out on the night of my performance,” he says in one spilled breath, and waits for Johnny to react.

At first, Johnny says nothing. His chest is warm against Ten's back. Ten holds onto Johnny's wrist with both hands, encircling the timer in his palms as though simply hiding it from view can make it stop ticking. 

Then, Johnny says, “I could stay here, you know, that night.”

Ten imagines it, plays it out in his mind. Sees Johnny confined to this room as his timer runs out. He'd be lonely and isolated for a few hours, but maybe it would be worth it for what it could give them. Johnny might never meet his soulmate then, and he and Ten could escape the chrome circlet prisons around their wrists and be free to love each other. 

But then, Ten thinks, for how long would they be able to continue in ignorant bliss? How long until Johnny starts thinking, what if? How long until  _ Ten _ starts to think that? Because truly, he's already thinking it. A couple of hours in isolation for Johnny would translate into a lifetime of paranoia and doubt on Ten's end, and on Johnny's, something even worse: regret. 

It is what Ten fears most, what Ten whispered to Johnny last night.

“I can't do that to you, Johnny,” Ten says with a certainty he didn't know he possessed. “I won't let you do that.”

“ _ Let _ me?” 

Ten shifts to loosen the hold Johnny has around him, so he can turn in the circle of his arms to face him. “Think about it,” Ten says carefully, mulling over each word, “You'll do this for me once, and then you'll do it again. Cutting yourself off from the things you're -- you're  _ meant _ to experience.” When Johnny's eyebrows lift, his eyes wide and searching, Ten, knowing how Johnny feels about words and concepts like _destiny_ and _fate_ , barrels on faster, “I won't be the reason you keep yourself back from things. I won't be the reason you can't live your life.”

“What if that  _ is _ how it's meant to be?” 

This time it's Ten who raises his eyebrows in skepticism.  “You and me in a little box forever?”

“Our own little kingdom.”

“Or a prison, Johnny. That's too sad to think about,” Ten says, fitting his palm against Johnny's cheek. “I love you. I don't want that for you. Or for us.”

“Then you want me to go to the performance?”

Ten closes the distance between their lips, kisses Johnny and nuzzles in close, breathing in his scent, his musk. “I want you to see me dance. I want everyone in the audience to know every single move I make is for you.”

Johnny kisses him back, full and deep, fingers curled around Ten's hip. “What happens when my timer hits zero, Ten?”

Ten's breath shudders in his chest. “I don't know,” he admits. He hopes with his next words, that speaking them makes them true. Holding Johnny's face in his hands, he thinks there's no mountain he wouldn't climb for him, no ocean he wouldn't swim across. “But I know that I love you, and I'm trusting you not to break my heart. We'll figure it out. Together.”

.

Ten sprawls his body across the cool hardwood floor, giving himself some relief from the heat and mugginess that has built up in the studio after hours of practice with Sicheng. At the end of the day, they'll be previewing their routine to the whole group and their team of instructors for a round of critical feedback so they can make final touches to their performance before Friday's show. Ten's chest heaves, lungs crying out for oxygen. At the barre, Sicheng isn't faring much better, finishing off his water bottle in one long pull. He glistens all over with sweat.

"Again?" Ten asks, between breaths.

"You're trying to kill us," Sicheng complains in monotone. He stretches down with straight legs to lay his palms flat against the floor and groans when he rights himself. "I'm going to be so sore tomorrow."

Ten says, "Better tomorrow than Friday. I wanna try again. There's something missing, isn't there? It just feels...off."

Sicheng nods with a grim and serious expression. He comes over to Ten, his bare feet silent and light, and plops himself down onto the floor next to him. Ten immediately nudges his head against Sicheng's thigh and lays himself down comfortably on his friend's lap, sighing contentedly. "You're like a cat," Sicheng says, running his fingers through Ten's damp hair. "Ugh, your hair's all sweaty."

"Pet me," Ten demands. For some reason, Sicheng does, and Ten closes his eyes against the feeling of fingers against his scalp.

"It's just the very end, right?" Sicheng continues, chewing on his bottom lip as he mulls over the gaps in the routine. "We end in our respective sides, but that doesn't feel right. If the story we're telling is about two halves of a whole, shouldn't we end...whole?"

"I think you're right," Ten murmurs, his breaths slowing.

Sicheng pulls on his hair lightly, just enough to jolt him from the edge of a nice nap. "Don't just agree with me. Think about it."

"I  _ am _ ," Ten insists, pouting as he sits up now. "Okay, let's try it like this." Ten describes the change in the routine. Instead of highlighting each other's solos for the sake of the solo, they'll cut a few seconds off from that section and sync up. Ten mimes the moves on the floor as best he can, excitement growing at the thought of trying something new in the dance. "Then we can end like this," Ten gasps in realization before throwing himself at Sicheng with his arms wide. 

Sicheng reacts by catching Ten against his chest with a cry, and they fall backwards onto the hardwood together, laughter erupting out of Sicheng at the surprise. Ten grins, secure in his friend's arms, and laughs with him.

"You're in a good mood today," Sicheng says quietly, when the laughter has subsided a little bit. "I'm glad."

"Me, too," Ten says, and then the door to their studio opens with a bang and a shout, making them startle against each other.

"I come with food!" Yuta calls out to announce his entrance, brandishing two stuffed plastic bags in front of him. He's wearing a black tank with the neckline so low Ten swears he catches a glimpse of a dusky nipple when he waves the bags around. His Adidas track pants swish as he approaches, and a recognizable figure follows close behind. "And with Jaehyun!"

"Yuta, shouldn't you be practicing?" Sicheng points out, yet nonetheless he reaches both hands up to take one of the bags from Yuta, carefully placing it to the side on the ground without smacking Ten in the face with it. 

"Nah, I'm better when I've got room to improvise," Yuta says. His grin is magnificent. He sits next to Sicheng with the other bag and starts to unload. It's salads from some place down the street, which makes Ten frown again, but then Yuta pulls out a double chocolate chip cookie and sets it in front of Ten next to his plastic takeout bowl of greens. "Jaehyun insisted," Yuta explains. "But only after the salad."

Ten stretches with a kittenish yawn and sits up, scrambling to his feet when Jaehyun's close. The other isn't dressed to dance, but to explore the city -- thigh-hugging jean shorts and a cute striped tank through which Ten can see the outline of defined, hard muscles. The expression on his face, though, is soft and sweet. His cheeks remind Ten of marshmallows.

"Thanks," Ten cheers, greeting Jaehyun with a hug. The shape of him already feels familiar. Jaehyun hugs him back with one arm squeezed across the small of Ten's back, lifting Ten to his toes. "How've you been?"

"Oh, so he gets a hug and I don't?" Yuta complains.

"He brought me a cookie!"

"So you can be bribed..."

Sicheng pokes at Yuta then, and his attention shifts entirely to his boyfriend. Ten pulls Jaehyun by the hand to sit down with him in the middle of the studio, amused. 

"Are you eating with us?" Ten asks.

"Yeah, I wanted to check out this area, and Yuta wanted me to look at his dance before the review later today." 

Ten hums in interest and curiosity as they open up their lunches. "You dance?"

"Just as a hobby," Jaehyun says with a shrug. "I'm no pro, like you are."

Ten flushes at the underhanded praise, hiding the color of his cheeks by taking a huge bite of salad. At least Yuta picked a nice creamy and spicy dressing, so there's some flavor to it. "I'm not a pro yet," he says.

"Your YouTube view count would beg to differ." Jaehyun laughs, a soft chuffing sound, dimples forming at his cheeks. 

"I still can't believe you watched my videos."

"They're good! You're good!" Jaehyun says animatedly, jabbing his fork at Ten. "Don't sell yourself short, okay? I'm glad I watched them."

Ten smiles into his salad. Ever since he was small, he's tried to surpass what's expected of him -- with dance that meant hundreds of hours practicing, practicing to the point of exhaustion, to collapse. Recovering from rolled ankles and sprains and, once, a broken wrist. Hearing Jaehyun's unsolicited praise doesn't just make him feel good. It makes him feel like someone _sees_ him. 

"Anyway," Ten says with a light cough, to shift the focus of their conversation. "What did you do this weekend?"

"You mean after dinner on Saturday?" Jaehyun says with a twinkle in his eye. "We went for dim sum in the morning with Lucas and Mark. They were _so_ hungover. Honestly, I know I've only known Lucas for two days, but I don't know how he survives. Everything is just _go, go, go_ with him."

"Yeah," Ten says, "you get used to it."

"Do you?"

"No," Ten admits, covering his mouth open in wide laughter with his free hand. "What else did you do?"

"Hm, went to Central Park, walked around, pet a dog."

"Oh, a dog?"

"Yeah, a chocolate lab, actually..."

"Jaehyun," Ten says with a sigh. "You're really just a simple man looking for simple pleasures, aren't you?"

Jaehyun's eyes flick down to Ten's timer, and Ten suddenly feels like he's been jolted back into his body. Thoughts of timers have been absent from his mind all morning, a truly rare occurrence. It feels nice, he realizes, trying not to care about the thing around his wrist, and he tries not to look at it now -- not at his own, and not at Jaehyun's. Neither of theirs works, anyway. 

"You could say that," Jaehyun says. "Yeah, you could say that."

Something about the way Jaehyun is looking at Ten makes him want to shift closer, like Jaehyun is a magnet slowly growing more powerful in its pull. Ten imagines himself sitting across from Jaehyun on their bench in the park, their lunches between them and the dew drops of mist from the fountain making it seem like there are jewels in their hair. There's dressing left behind on the corner of Jaehyun's lips. Ten reaches forward to swipe his thumb there, across Jaehyun's skin, and he finds it as smooth and soft as a nectarine's. He blinks, and it's Johnny sitting across from him instead, his lips shaped like a peach.

"On Friday, Johnny will be there, too," Ten says.

Jaehyun doesn't seem bothered by the shift in topic. He grins and adjusts as easily as turning on a light switch. "That's good," he says. "I'll get to meet him."

"I think you'll like him," Ten says.

Jaehyun's smile carves a line across his face, like a chisel into stone. They finish their salads, and when it comes time for dessert, they split the cookie in half and share it.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably 1 or 2 chapters left y'all. thanks so much for reading <3


	21. Chapter 21

There are these moments where it feels like Ten is peeking through a keyhole at something that was never meant to be his. Ten and Johnny brushing their teeth together in front of the sink in the bathroom, the short counter space and tiny quarters barely enough for them to fit side by side. Ten letting a smile light up his face, hugging a hoodie to his chest as he skips over to Johnny, who's waiting for him outside the Lincoln Center after practice so they can walk around the city in the final embers of twilight and grab a bite to eat before heading back to the dorm. Johnny trying not to make a sound when he wakes up in the morning, an hour before Ten really needs to be up, bumping around the dorm in the near-dark and cursing when he stubs his toe on the dresser. Ten laughing and pulling him back to bed. Johnny, letting him.

He collects these moments like precious coins, thumbing them over and over in the palm of his mind until they are worn, and warm, and brilliant. Looking back on it, this summer will always make him think of these things: the spray of the fountain in the park, the way the branches thick with lush, green leaves mottled the light before it could reach Johnny's body, Johnny's breath against his ear, against the mirror, as he held him in the dark in the dance studio. 

These will belong to Ten forever, these memories, these stolen, keyhole moments. No matter what. And Ten will belong to Johnny forever.

"What are you thinking about?" Johnny asks, grinning sleepily, his fingers clumsily bumping against Ten's cheek as he paws at Ten's face. They are in bed. It's been a long day, and the heat has seeped into the furniture of their dorm. Tomorrow, Ten's sister lands at JFK International Airport.

"The coins at the bottom of the fountain," Ten whispers, taking Johnny's fingers into his own and kissing the tops of his knuckles. Johnny sighs, content. "Do you think it's the fountain that grants wishes, or the coins?"

Johnny chuckles. "Sometimes you say the weirdest things." He cushions the comment with a kiss on the very tip of Ten's nose. "I love it so much. I never know what I’m gonna get. And I don't know. A combination of both, I suppose."

"Everything has its place."

Johnny's focus sharpens, and Ten flushes a little, knowing he's been caught feeling sentimental, feeling nostalgic for something that hasn't yet passed. "I'm the fountain and you're the coin," Johnny says, pressing soft kisses to Ten's forehead, his eyebrows, his lips. "So make a wish, and we'll make it come true."

Ten closes his eyes as Johnny continues to pepper kisses over his face and down his neck. He feels Johnny pressing into the warmth between his thighs. "I love you," Ten says.

"I love you, too."

Ten peeks through the keyhole. He watches them say it with their bodies.

.

“Are you sure Tern doesn’t want anyone to pick her up at the airport?” Johnny asks for the tenth time that night, worry creasing his features. He keeps interrupting the show they’re watching together on his laptop with this question, or some variation of it.

Ten sighs, for the tenth time, and shifts to drape himself more comfortably over half of Johnny’s body, leg thrown over Johnny’s thighs and head tucked against his chest. The blankets have all been pushed to the end of the mattress. “I’m sure. She’s sure. Trust me, she and I both know that she’ll be horrible after 20 hours stuck on a plane. She’ll meet us for dinner, tomorrow, after taking a nice nap and having a shower in her five star hotel by Central Park.”

“She sounds fancy,” Johnny mumbles. Ten pauses the show on his laptop again and growls a little at the continued interruption, but Johnny just smooths his big palm over Ten’s forehead and murmurs nonsense to soothe him. Ten, against his outward wishes, is soothed.

“My family is fancy,” Ten says. “You know this.”

“I know, it just throws me for a loop when I can, like, see it. You know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean.”

“I just keep waiting for you to tell me that all this time, you’ve been wanting to ask me to be your sugar baby.”

“Johnny!” Ten gasps, throwing his boyfriend a scandalized look.

Johnny grins sheepishly at Ten. “What?”

Ten flushes, biting the inside of his cheek. “Is that...something you really think about?”

“No,” Johnny admits. “Oh my god, is that something  _ you  _ think about?”

Heat flashes across Ten’s cheeks. “Not -- like! Not, like, seriously!” he says, feeling more and more embarrassed the longer Johnny grins at him with an expression like he’s ogling a fine, delicious dessert. “It’s just a nice thought, isn’t it? To be pampered and taken care of like that…”

“I can do that for you _ for free _ ,” Johnny teases him.

Ten rolls his eyes, and Johnny closes the laptop and moves it to the nightstand. “Hey!? We’re watching that!”

"I wasn't watching it at all," Johnny says with a shrug, but his eyes are glinting something mischievous. "I just wanted to cuddle my  _ baby _ ."

"Please," Ten begs.

"Please what?"

"Don't make this a thing."

Johnny adopts a look of pure innocence. "Make what a thing?"

"Oh my god, you're making it a thing."

Johnny laughs with his head thrown back against the pillow. Ten, curled into the crook of his arm, gives into his infectious laughter and pushes himself up higher along Johnny's body. Johnny turns to him with diamonds glittering in his eyes and asks, still chuckling, "Permission to pamper and take care of my baby?"

Ten rolls his eyes again with a groan, the impact of the sound minimized by the smile fighting to make itself visible on Ten's face. "Fine," Ten huffs, and Johnny rolls over him in bed and pins him down with his knees on either side of Ten's hips, his lips on Ten's neck and moving across his throat and and collar bones. Then Johnny suddenly blows a raspberry on Ten's right pec, making Ten twitch with the laughter that explodes out of him. "Mercy!" Ten cries out when Johnny starts tickling him, feet kicking. "Mercy!"

"No mercy will be granted," Johnny says in a forced, gruff voice, which only causes Ten to laugh harder. He bears down on Ten's smaller form and sticks his fingers into Ten's armpits. "Argh!"

"You sound ridiculous!" Ten shrieks, bucking. "What is that? A pirate? Stop changing up the role play!"

“Aw, you don't like my pirate impression?” 

“I’d  _ love  _ to see you in a pirate costume. Big silly hat, frilly collar, tight ass pants. Eyepatch. The works.”

“It’s too bad we didn’t know each other two Halloweens ago,” Johnny muses, sitting back onto his heels and ceasing his tickling attack, though his hands remain on Ten's wrists above his head.. He’s still straddling Ten, too, so his weight pushes the air out of Ten’s lungs. He shifts down Ten’s body, probably in part to relieve some of the pressure on Ten’s lungs, mostly in part to tease his ass over Ten’s crotch. Ten scowls at him, wriggling his hips under Johnny's bulk, and Johnny smirks, holding himself very still over his body.

“You were a pirate? I was a...hm, I think I dressed up as a princess," Ten offers.

“Yeah?” Johnny’s eyes gleam with interest.

“Oh yeah. Blonde wig, Gwen Stefani lipstick, frosted eyeshadow. Long pink dress. Tiara. Fishnets.”

Johnny sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Fishnets, huh? I would have liked to see that,” Johnny murmurs. He releases Ten's wrists to fold himself over Ten’s body, bracing himself on his elbows. His hair falls to frame his face as he wets his lips with his tongue.

“I bet,” Ten says quietly. Once his eyes dart to Johnny’s lips, there’s nothing else left for them to do but kiss, so they do, until their lips are as red as the lipstick Ten used two years ago as part of his costume. It reminds Ten of cherries.

.

“She’s late,” Johnny frets. His knee is jiggling under the table, and it’s making the silverware on the surface shake. They’ve been seated near the back of the restaurant, past the crowded, standing-room only bar at the front and the section of booths past that. Seeing Johnny frazzled is the opposite of what Ten’s used to -- to Ten, Johnny always seems calm and steady, certain of himself and his actions, like a deeply rooted tree in the middle of a storm, Ten's storm. No matter how much he’s railed against him, Johnny’s footing has always been sure, and deep. Now, though, Johnny keeps fidgeting with his fingers, nervous energy making all of his movements slightly twitchy, and Ten realizes sometimes Johnny might need him to be the tree, too.

Ten folds his hand over Johnny’s knee and fixes a serene, calming smile on his face. He’s not sure if the look manages to calm Johnny down at all, so he says, “Don't worry, baby. Tern’s always late.”

“She’s late, and she hates me,” Johnny counters, looking a bit like a wild animal trapped in a cage. He’s wearing a white button up short-sleeved shirt tucked into dark olive chinos, having come straight from work with no time to change. Ten ducked out of dance practice a little bit early to freshen up, and has come in a scandalously tight pair of pants and a billowy, silky shirt that puffs up like a sail behind him whenever there’s the slightest breeze. 

“She does not hate you,” Ten says, frowning slightly. “Wow, I’ve never seen you like this, Johnny.”

“It’s just important to me that she likes me. It’s like, it’s like I’m meeting your mom.”

Ten cocks his head to the side, tongue pressed behind his teeth, amused. “But you’re not. It’s just my sister. You’ll meet my mom eventually.”

Johnny makes a noise like a dying duck and bangs his elbows onto the table in order to hang his head in his hands. Ten laughs at him in sympathy. He plucks a slice of the artisanal dark pumpernickel bread in the basket in the center of their table and nudges Johnny with his shoulder as he begins to spread butter over the slice liberally. “Relax,” Ten suggests. “Have some bread. Drink more wine. I promise you, Tern is a piece of cake.”

“Just yesterday you said she was horrible!”

“Anyone would be horrible after 20 hours on a plane.”

“Okay, okay,” Johnny accedes. “I just feel like I can’t let my guard down. I want to make a good impression, Ten.” He opens his mouth when Ten offers him a bite of the buttered bread slice. “This is important to me,” he says with a mouthful of pumpernickel.

“Definitely don’t speak with all that food in your mouth around her, darling,” Ten chides, giggling when Johnny immediately snaps his mouth shut and flushes. “She already 75% loves you, I promise. You just have to carry the rest of the 25%.”

Ten doesn't have time to decipher the way Johnny's expression changes, softening around the edges, because that's when he hears a familiar voice rise above all the others in the raucous din created by the dozens of animated conversations in the restaurant.

“ _ Nong! _ ”*

Ten perks up at the term, glancing around for signs of his sister. He sees her shouldering past a tall couple just leaving their table, the hostess following behind Tern by a couple of steps with slightly panicked eyes. Ten stands, laughing when he sees Tern struggling to maneuver through the narrow space between the rows of tables, shopping bags dangling off her arms like ornaments on a Christmas tree. She’s wearing a sundress with sunflowers all over it and giant sunglasses, her hair tied up in a messy ponytail. The hostess pauses when she sees Ten standing, anticipating, and realizes Tern isn’t some aggressive, tiny tourist trying to shove her way to the bar, but rather a guest with a reservation.

“ _ Phi! _ ” he calls for her, waving with both hands. He steps to the side of their small table and holds his arms out, and Tern squeals a little when she throws herself into his arms. She smacks the back of Johnny’s head with a shopping bag, but he graciously says nothing.  _ “Did a little shopping, hm?” _ he teases her in Thai.

_ “I came here with an empty suitcase,” _ Tern says, releasing Ten from her hug and slowly sloughing the shopping bags off her arms. On flat footing, she’s nearly a head shorter than him.  _ “Of course I’m here to shop. You got so tan over here! I thought you wouldn’t see any sun. Is this him?”  _ She inclines her head subtly in Johnny’s direction.

_ “Who else would it be?” _

_ “He looks nervous,” _ Tern laughs, and Ten agrees. Johnny has stood up as well, shoulders a little hunched to keep him from towering over them both at his full height. His eyes dart between them both as they exchange banter in a language he can’t understand. 

_ “Be nice,” _ Ten chirps, clicking his tongue at his sister.

_ “I am so nice,” _ Tern says. She pushes her sunglasses up to sit over the crown of her head, giving Johnny a once over.  _ “He’s huge.” _

“Tern, please,” Ten says over her commentary. “This is Johnny, my boyfriend. Johnny, my sister Tern.” 

Johnny holds his hand out for Tern to shake. “It’s really nice to meet you,” he says in a velvety soft voice.

“Oh my gosh, are you serious?” Tern grabs Johnny’s hand and pulls him into a hug, needing to stand on her toes to even think about wrapping her arms around his neck. Johnny stoops over to accommodate her, an expression of pleasant surprise on his face. “You are dating my brother.  _ My brother.  _ You deserve a hug.”

.

Dinner is punctuated by Tern’s stories of summer in Thailand, shared plates, and cocktails. Ten's sister peppers Johnny with questions about Chicago, about how he survives the winters there, about if he and Ten have plans to visit.

“Oh, well,” Johnny says, eyes glancing over to Ten as his breath catches. In the space of a millisecond, Ten sees his entire future with Johnny flash before him. Of course he’s  _ thought  _ about visiting Chicago, visiting Johnny’s family. They've only spoken about the future past this next week in the most abstract of senses. They have to make it through the summer first. Johnny swallows his uncertainty and continues, “I’d love that. I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to ask you, actually…”

Ten takes Johnny’s hand into his own, eyes never leaving him. It takes him moments to find his voice again to ask, “You really mean it?”

“Of course.”

A smile flashes across Ten's lips. “Let’s do it. Over winter break.”

Johnny laughs softly. “You’ll freeze solid if you’re not used to it.”

“Maybe you should come visit me instead, then.”

When Johnny smiles, warmth blooms in Ten’s gut. Even with the sweat matting his hair at his temples and the slightly dark circles under his eyes from a long day at the office, Ten thinks Johnny is a vision. He reaches up to tuck Johnny’s hair behind his ear, and traces his earlobe with his fingers before he withdraws. 

“Yeah, we can go to the mall,” Tern says loudly. She tears a small piece of bread from her slice and flicks it at her brother. “Ten’s favorite place.”

Ten shoots Tern an incendiary glare when the food bounces off his cheek. “ _ Real mature, phi _ ,” he says in Thai.

“ _ You were getting lost in his eyes _ ,” Tern says back sweetly. She laughs when Ten’s cheeks heat, turning rosy in an instant, and Johnny looks between them, lost.

“What? What’d you say?”

“Nothing,” Ten says quickly, shaking his head.

“I said, it would be nice for you to visit,” Tern says. She relaxes back in his seat, throwing her arm across the back of it lazily. “Our mom will just eat you up.”

.

After dinner, they walk Tern back to her hotel despite her assurances that she can manage on her own. 

“I’m not trying to be a gentleman,” Johnny teases. “I just want to see how fancy the lobby is.”

“I see,” Tern sighs, putting on an air of exasperation, but Ten can tell by the twitch at the corner of her lips that she’s amused. Charmed, even. Despite not trying to be a gentleman, Johnny takes the majority of Tern's bags from her so she's not loaded down with the bulk. And Ten walks between them the whole way, sandwiched by two people he loves. 

The walk is a good twenty minutes at the slow, meandering pace they take in the balmy, humid evening, and throughout, Tern asks Johnny slightly invasive questions that Johnny answers with much diplomacy, and maybe even enjoyment ("Are you an only child? What do your parents do? Where did you go to school? Do you have a job lined up?" and on and on). 

Finally, as they near the entrance to the hotel, bright white light from the lobby spilling out onto the sidewalk through the clear, glassed walls, Ten turns to Tern and says, "Have you finished your interrogation?" and Tern has the audacity to grin, shoulders bunched toward her ears at being caught. "You might as well be asking what his intentions are with me."

"What  _ are  _ your intentions with my brother?" Tern asks, squinting at Johnny. "I noticed your numbers, Johnny," she says.

The light from the hotel lobby is suddenly too piercing, too sharp. It hurts Ten's eyes, and he fixes his stare onto the sidewalk instead. He'd been dreading this part of the conversation. He'd hoped Tern just wouldn't bring it up, but of course she would, and how could he blame her? She's just looking out for him. But still, it feels strange to talk about this with someone who isn't Johnny, who's in it with him, or Sicheng, who's offered quiet support and advice this whole time. It's like the outside world is finally catching onto their relationship and encroaching, aiming to tear them apart. His hand feels small inside of Johnny's, but Johnny squeezes his palm and steps closer to him. 

"I don't know if 'intention' is the right word, if I'm being honest," Johnny starts slowly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Ten's hand. "I love you, Ten, and I intend to keep loving you." To Tern, he continues, "We've talked about what's coming and we -- we're gonna be just fine."

Tern's quiet as she considers Johnny's words, his stance, the certainty held in the line of his shoulders. She nods. "You're welcome to come up, you know, over the weekend and stuff. There's a pool and everything. Hang out with us before we go back home."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Tern says. "See you Friday, Johnny."

Tern hugs them both before heading into her hotel. Arms around Ten's shoulders, she whispers into his ear,  _ "I'll see you tomorrow? We'll talk. I love you, nong." _

"I love you, too," Ten says, holding her tightly.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *i made tern older than ten in this fic/universe, which is why she uses nong when referring to ten and ten refers to her at phi...but let me know if that’s wrong


	22. Chapter 22

“I think maybe instead of making it to the performance tomorrow, I’ll pretend I broke my ankle,” Sicheng says after knocking into Ten for the third time during a complicated partner exchange right at the climax of their routine. Ten’s supposed to wind between Sicheng’s legs and emerge on the other side, where Sicheng will whip him into a spin on his knees and catch him by the shoulders for a hard stop. It’s worked almost every time they’ve practiced it, but now on the day before their performance, Sicheng keeps messing up the catch, leaving Ten to spin out. 

“And leave me all by myself? I’ll never, ever forgive you.”

“You can pretend you broke your ankle, too,” Sicheng offers from his position spread-eagle on his back on the dance floor. “Then we’ll escape underground. We’ll start competing in underground dance battles and gain notoriety there...we’ll have our own reality show. We’ll live off the endorsements.”

Ten plops to a seat next to Sicheng and pokes him in the side. “I don’t think that’s the life for me.”

“Shame,” Sicheng says, not even twitching. “I had it all planned out.”

“What’s going on? This isn’t like you. Are you really that nervous about tomorrow?”

Sicheng shrugs and sighs. With a grunt, he rises up onto his elbows. “Tomorrow’s the last day of the program,” he says.

“Yeah,” Ten says. “I’m aware.” It's the last day for a lot of things, Ten thinks privately and glumly to himself.

Sicheng looks away, expression unreadable as he gazes at nothing. “Yuta leaves on Monday.”

Ten’s chest deflates like a balloon pricked by a pin. “Oh. So soon?”

“Yeah, he got -- this last-minute offer from this brand. He’s going back and filming a commercial.”

Ten feels his eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “Wow.” The awe he feels at Yuta’s news and opportunity dampens at the blank expression on Sicheng’s face. Monday is sooner than he expected. 

“I thought we’d have at least a week in the city together after the program, but...” Sicheng trails off with another sigh, forlorn and resigned. “I mean, I couldn’t ask him not to go back. It’s a great thing for him.”

“Yeah,” Ten says, more out of sympathy than anything else. He’s never really seen Sicheng like this, a little fragile and uncertain. “It is...but you wanted to spend more time with him.”

Sicheng sits up, bringing his knees up and throwing his arms around them, frowning into his forearms. “It’s just not fair. He’ll be in Tokyo and I’ll be in Beijing and no one ever talks about how _hard_ it can be to have a soulmate. Like, after you’ve found each other, things don’t just fall into place. It’s not automatically perfect. Sometimes he does stuff that just makes me think: I cannot _believe_ I love him. But then he does something else that makes me so, so incredibly happy. It's so confusing, but I guess this is what figuring it out means.”

He’s silent for a moment, steeping in his own misery, and Ten feels for him, slides over on his butt to put an arm around Sicheng’s shoulders. Then Sicheng seems to realize what he’s said, and he gasps, meeting Ten’s eyes. “Oh, Ten. I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”

Ten squints at Sicheng’s eyes stricken with emotion. “It _is_ hard to have a soulmate. You didn’t say anything untrue. I think I’m learning that, too. Even though, you know…”

“You and Johnny belong together,” Sicheng says.

“Well, that’s not what the universe thinks,” Ten says with forced lightness.

“It’s what I think,” Sicheng says. “It’s what you think. It’s what Johnny thinks.”

“Maybe if everyone else thinks it, we don’t need the universe to agree.”

Sicheng grins, knocking his shoulder into Ten’s. “I’m sad that Yuta has to leave so soon, but I know we’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, I know you’ll be okay, too.”

“I guess I won’t break my ankle, then.”

“ _Pretend_ to,” Ten emphasizes. He squeezes his arm around the back of Sicheng’s neck.

“I won’t do that, either,” Sicheng quips, laughing. “Hey, after the summer, we’ll still be friends, right?”

“What?” Ten shrills, a little scandalized that Sicheng even needs to ask. Sicheng’s laughter grows bubbly as Ten wrestles him to the floor, aggressively hugging him and nuzzling his face into Sicheng’s belly. “Of course! You’re never getting rid of me, Sicheng.”

He feels Sicheng’s fingers fall to his hair. As his friend laughs, his tummy quakes under Ten’s cheek, and Ten closes his eyes to remember this feeling forever, greedy for affection in all its forms. 

“Together until the end,” Sicheng says quietly.

“The end of what?” Ten asks.

Sicheng hums and doesn’t respond.

.

Ten reads the texts over again, the knot in the pit of his stomach tightening with each word. The mirror against his back is cool. He wishes he’d gone out with Sicheng and Yuta for lunch, but he hadn’t wanted to intrude. So instead he’s in the studio, alone, nursing a half-eaten sandwich and a stomachache. 

_ty and dy wanna come out after the show tomorrow. they said they’ll bring taeil, the potential roommate! is that okay?_

_ten?_

_we don’t have to go out with them, love_

He hates that Johnny felt the need to suggest that they didn’t have to go out. He knows it’s because he hesitated in his response. And he knows he hesitated because he’s worried that Johnny’s next potential roommate could be his soulmate. 

But he said so to Johnny himself: He doesn’t want to be the reason Johnny holds himself back from life, because he’s too scared to take a chance. And he doesn’t want Johnny to think he doesn’t trust him. He does, with his whole entire heart and soul. It’s just taking Ten a while to work through all the emotions this situation is bringing up, nervousness and guilt sitting like battery acid in his gut.

He thinks of Sicheng and Yuta and how Monday is unavoidable, of Jaehyun and his sweet, gentle smile despite his jigsaw of a timer. He thinks about _figuring it out_ , whatever that means. For him and Johnny, it probably means this. Ten bites into his lip and brings up the messages again, and then he presses Johnny’s call icon, putting his phone to his ear swiftly. Johnny picks up before the end of the first ring.

“Ten? Everything okay?” 

“Hey, Johnny,” Ten says. His voice echoes in the empty studio, and he drops into a whisper even though no one else is around. “I got your texts.”

“Oh, yeah. Ten, don’t worry about it. We don’t have to go. We can stay in! We can watch something fun or cook or, I dunno, make out a lot and cuddle. Whatever you want.” 

“No, no,” Ten says. “No. Let’s go. And we should meet Taeil.”

“You sure?”

“Johnny, as much as I love you, I don’t want to become a recluse with you,” Ten says. “I have many, many years before my youth and beauty go, and I strongly believe that other people should be able to witness it.”

“Ha!” Johnny laughs but quickly stifles himself, and Ten grins, imagining the annoyance on his coworkers’ faces. “Not that I don’t agree with you, sweetie, but, um. Vain much?”

“You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me.”

“I did,” Johnny admits. “I really did.” He sounds like he’s smiling. Ten blushes, despite neither of them being able to see the other.

“And I’m sorry it took me a while to respond. I needed to think about it,” Ten says quietly.

“I understand.”

“I always want us to figure things out together, okay? Whatever it is. Big or small.”

“Baby.” Johnny’s voice is husky and low. “Always.”

Emotion clumps up in Ten’s throat. His eyes prick with tears. He won’t let them fall. “I love you.”

Johnny says, “I love you, too.”

Sicheng returns with Yuta, who asks him about his reddened eyes.

“It must be the dust in the air,” Ten sniffles. It’s not, and everyone knows it.

.

"So, what's your deepest, darkest fear about Johnny?" Tern flicks her foot up from the water, sending a spray of droplets arching halfway across the pool. She’s in a black swimsuit, her long hair pulled up into a messy bun, a bright fruity cocktail at her hip. Since Ten’s performing tomorrow, he decided to go without alcohol in his drinks tonight and sips on his seltzer water with lemon (on the rim only, thanks) instead, but he's stripped down to a tank and cute swim shorts decorated with a neon pink seashell print. He sits next to his sister with his calves and feet in the water. 

Potted trees fill the corners and viney plants snake delicate green tendrils over the white walls of the indoor pool, which Ten assumes is styled after what a villa might look like on a Greek island. The water is a deep, cerulean blue because of the tiles used to line the bottom of the pool. The sound of the water lapping at the sides and the background noise of the hotel’s facilities echo throughout the chamber, bouncing off the high ceiling that is made entirely of clear glass. It looks like they're outdoors under the city but without the humidity. Skyscrapers loom above them before a pink and orange sky, the sun just beginning to set. 

"Hi Tern," Ten says in a saccharine voice. "It's so good to see you, too. Thanks for coming all the way from Bangkok to visit."

"Oh, shut up." Tern reaches down so she can flick water at him with her hand, grinning when Ten flinches prematurely at the attack. "I know how good you are at dancing so there's no need for us to talk about that. But romantic relationships? My brother?"

"You are really making my confidence levels soar."

"I mean, look at your track record. There was that guy in high school. Then that guy Han. Then Kun. Now Johnny. I just don't want you to get hurt again."

"Johnny won't hurt me."

Tern takes a noisy sip of her drink, leveling Ten with her stare.

"He won't," Ten bristles with the need to right whatever misconceptions Tern holds about his boyfriend, with the need for Tern to understand. "He _can't_. I love him too much. Maybe that's not healthy, but I don't -- I don't care.” 

Tern frowns, the smallest of wrinkles forming in her forehead. 

Ten continues, “You want to know what my deepest, darkest fear is about Johnny? I've already told him. It's that he'll choose me over someone else and regret it in the end. That tomorrow when he meets his soulmate he’ll still choose me. And then, at the end of everything, he’ll look back and think he wasted his time with me, and it’ll have been true. So -- so -- I almost _want_ him to him choose someone else. But he keeps picking me." Ten stares at the pool, at his distorted and broken reflection in the water's surface. He feels like he's just dunked himself into the deep end, and he emerges from his short monologue, breathless, eyes wet. "He keeps picking me, Tern."

His sister sighs and puts her drink down. " _Nong_ , you're telling me that your deepest, darkest fear about Johnny is that you think _you're_ the one not good enough?"

"He's so wonderful, _phi_ . You have no idea. I _know_ I'm not good enough."

"What complete and utter shit."

" _Phi--_ "

"You came to New York again all by yourself despite what happened the last time you were here," Tern says. "You found a prestigious, elite program you wanted to join. You worked for it and _got it,_ and I know what the application process was like. You make friends with almost everyone you meet. Of course you're good enough. What you should really be asking yourself is: Is _he_ good enough _for you_?"

The question baffles him. Ten turns it over and over in his mind, eyes hot, tears leaving scalding drops on the tops of his thighs. "What?"

"You never give yourself any credit, Ten," Tern says sadly. "I hate watching you put yourself down all the time."

"I don't -- not all the time--"

"All the time," Tern repeats with the finality of an epitaph. She holds his gaze, unyielding, unwavering. 

It's Ten who folds first, crumbling like a sand castle under a wave. She's right. He does it all the time. Does admitting it out loud make it better? Does speaking its opposite, or the words backwards like a spell, make the habits unravel? The pool blurs before his eyes. His chest compresses and releases like a valve. "Johnny makes me feel like I can do anything," he says. "I believe in myself around him."

"You can't make that dependent on him, Ten," Tern says. "And you know that's not fair to Johnny, either."

"I know, I know," Ten says. He brushes at his cheeks with his thumbs and takes a deep, steadying breath. The pool laps at his knees. "I'm working on it. Isn’t that enough?”

“Oh, _Ten_.” The way his name falls from her lips makes Ten think of his mother, tending to his scraped knees with kisses and magic words, holding him when he cried because his best friend called him a weirdo in the third grade, sending him off to New York City to face life all on his own. She smiles at him with lips stained pink from her cocktail. “It’s enough.”

.

The city at twilight is something Ten has always admired. Something about the long, purple shadows and the colorful sky, tinged with gold, and the way the setting sun creates a halo around the stark outlines of the buildings crowding each block makes him think about magical things, like how maybe little pixies live in the flowers that grow between the cracks in the sidewalks.

It's New York, after all. Maybe pixies exist here.

He sways as he walks, humming the tune of a pop song under his breath, his belly full of the room service dinner he and Tern had ordered and shared on her bed. 

It’s not quite time to go home. _Home_ being, of course, the dorm. Johnny. Ten’s not sure why it doesn’t feel like it’s time to go back yet. Maybe because he told Johnny he’d be out late with his sister, anyway. Maybe because going back means tomorrow will come sooner, means their performance will come sooner, means Johnny will meet his soulmate sooner.

Well, that’s not how time works. Ten knows that. It’s just what it feels like. And since twilight holds a kind of magic in itself, maybe the longer he stays out as the sun infinitely sets, the longer he can stretch out the hours as they count down on Johnny’s wrist.

He makes it back to Union Square on foot and contemplates ringing up to Sicheng’s apartment to kill some more time when his phone buzzes with a text.

_Break a leg tomorrow! (but not really -- I’m supposed to say that, right?) Sicheng is stress-watching anime with Yuta and I'm bored._

Ten grins at the message. Poor Jaehyun is probably squished to the side of the couch while Sicheng and Yuta re-enact the cheesy scenes playing out before them on the screen. He about-faces and cuts his way through the center of Union Square, through the park. The sparse trees do nothing to hide the busy streets and shops and people from view, but the sound is slightly dampened as he walks away from the park's edges. Finding an empty bench on one of the walkways, Ten sits and texts Jaehyun back: _so come out then! I'm in Union Square._

_With Johnny?_

_No, I just met up with my sister so I'm taking the long way back..._

It takes longer this time for Jaehyun to respond, and for some reason, this makes Ten anxious. He rubs his thumb over the screen of his phone and flings himself against the back of the bench, his tote with his wet swim trunks in a plastic bag and his dance clothes flopping next to his hip. He wonders what Johnny is doing.

 _Okay_ , Jaehyun responds _. Send me your location._

Ten excitedly swipes his thumb over the option to attach an image and brings up his camera app, and then he snaps a picture of the scene directly in front of him: dirt and grass and trees in the middle ground, a Whole Foods and Burlington's looming in the background. He sends it. 

 _Find me_ , he messages.

Jaehyun responds, _Gladly._

.

"So why are you taking the long way back?"

Ten jumps in his seat when he hears the familiar voice, face breaking into a smile. "Jaehyun. You found me."

"It wasn't that hard. I knew where to look." Jaehyun glows in the dying sun. It's like he's captured every last bit of light left in the sky and is nursing it just underneath his skin. His hair looks as soft as a cloud. 

Ten slides over the bench and pats the space next to him, and when he sits, Ten finds himself staring. "Do you still model?" he asks.

Jaehyun just grins, that slope of his mouth easy and light. "Not while at school."

"So you do, then," Ten extrapolates. "When you go home and stuff."

"On the side," Jaehyun says. He shifts, hanging his elbow over the back of the bench. "So why the long way back?" he asks again.

"I don't know," Ten admits with a shrug, even though mostly, he does.

"Does it have to do with tomorrow?"

Ten stills as a familiar pit of dread forms like a seed in his stomach. He nods. "Can I tell you something?"

Jaehyun drops his elbow and leans just a bit closer, head bowed in Ten's direction. "Of course."

"Johnny's supposed to meet his soulmate tomorrow."

"Oh," Jaehyun says, the sound like the back of your head sinking into a pillow. "What are you thinking about, with that?"

"I mean, I love him," Ten starts, looking at Jaehyun and finding the other boy staring at him with focused attention, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I'm trying not to think about much else."

Jaehyun purses his lips and hums, concentration deepening the lines in his brow. It makes Ten feel very much like he's being psychoanalyzed, and he squirms a little under his gaze. "His soulmate doesn't stand a chance against you," Jaehyun says finally. 

Ten sputters, ready to bite out some retort in case Jaehyun is making fun of him, of his situation, but Jaehyun's expression hasn't changed at all. He's serious. "What? Why?"

"Because you're you," Jaehyun explains simply.

Ten feels heat crawling down the back of his neck. "That's not a real reason, Jaehyun," he mutters.

"Depends on from where you're looking." 

Ten drops his eyes to the sidewalk, the heat sliding over his shoulder and cheeks and tops of his ears. Jaehyun's simple and direct in his communication, but he has this way of making every word feel as weighted as a sandbag. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Tell me about you. The research you're doing?"

Ten hadn't intended on asking about it, but it's the first thing that comes to mind, and once the question has fallen from his lips he realizes he's genuinely curious. What is Jaehyun's research about? What can he do with it? Why does he care?

Jaehyun's shoulders shoot up to his ears as he grins shyly. "My research?"

"Yeah."

"Well...I told you about the resilience stuff before," Jaehyun begins. Ten nods, encouraging him to continue. "I guess, at the heart of it all, I'm trying to understand if this soulmate stuff really matters. If it really makes a difference. There's this perception that if you're fated, you're happier, right? But isn't it kind of like -- like if you really _really_ love bees, and then you were given the opportunity to be a beekeeper, wouldn't you be the happiest person in the world?"

Ten makes a face. "Ugh, why bees?"

"First thing that came to mind," Jaehyun says apologetically, chuckling a bit. "Bad example. I guess what I'm trying to say is -- if it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. Like, you know how girls and boys equally want to be scientists and doctors and stuff when they're little, but when they get older the disparity between them is super high? Because society keeps telling girls they can't be scientists? And then people are, like, really surprised that more girls don't end up being scientists?"

"...sure," Ten says, because he did know that. He just wasn't sure how this related yet to soulmates.

"We tell people having a soulmate is important, and that makes it important. In societies where soulmates aren't important, are the people's relative levels of happiness lower? Is life worse there? Is it the same? I guess that's what I'm interested in understanding and figuring out. People were happy, too, you know? Before soulmates were a thing that could be measured through a timer. They had to have been."

Ten mulls over what Jaehyun has shared, the raw truth of his words sitting like slivers of tart green apple on his tongue. He thinks about Lucas and his decades-long wait for his one-and-only, how he's letting himself explore and fall in love before then. How, maybe, when he meets his soulmate, he'll have turned into a completely different person than who he was meant to be. Would they still be compatible then? Fated? Does it matter? 

Ten wouldn't trade what he has with Johnny for anything. That matters.

"Oh no," Jaehyun groans. "I talked too much. You should have told me to shut up."

"You didn't," Ten quips. "You're just, like, really smart, huh?"

"I just like to read a lot," Jaehyun says.

"You know, before I met Johnny, I probably would have argued with you about your research. Actually, up until about a week ago, I would have," Ten admits.

"Yeah? What's changed?"

"I don't know." Ten shrugs. "Me?"

Jaehyun quiets, and the sun slinks lower. The night is burnt gold. He sighs and it seems to make the world spin a little slower. "Change is a good thing," Jaehyun says quietly, drifting closer. His pull is magnetic, like a hand cupped behind the back of Ten's neck. The green numbers on his wrist flicker to the beat of Ten's pulse. They freeze, close enough that Ten can feel Jaehyun's breath on his lips, can feel his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. They don't kiss, but Ten can feel the intent as fully as the press of Jaehyun's lips on his own, like a searing photo-negative.

Ten shivers, his heart beating loud in his ears as he yanks himself back as though from the edge of a cliff. "No," Ten whispers, voice strained. "What are we -- what did we--?"

" _I'm sorry_ ," Jaehyun says, but there's cotton in Ten's ears. "You looked so --  _Please, Ten_."

" _Johnny_ ," Ten says. 

"I know. I'm sorry. Nothing happened. We can say that nothing happened."

"Nothing _did_ happen," Ten hisses. He stands abruptly from the bench, his tote swinging from his hand. "I have to go," he says stiffly, his lips still burning with what they didn't do.

Jaehyun doesn't try to stop him, and a sense of betrayal curdles in his chest like soured milk the whole walk back to the dorm.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't hate jaehyun okay :(


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _In those heavy days in June_  
>  _When love became an act of defiance_  
>  -june, florence + the machine

The lights are off when Ten returns to their dorm room. It takes a moment for Ten's eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they do, he notices Johnny sitting up in bed, the blue glow of his phone reflecting off his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looks up as Ten closes the door.

"Hey," Johnny says. His voice is like smoke in Ten's lungs, warm and comforting and suffocating. His smile spreads across his face like molasses.

"Hey." Ten swallows the word inside of his mouth. His lips are still burning from earlier. "I'm just gonna shower and then I'll join you."

"Sure," Johnny says, sinking down lower in the bed and folding the corner of the blanket down in preparation for Ten to crawl in next to him later. The fan whirs in the window and drowns out the sounds from the street underneath. "Big day tomorrow."

"Yeah. Big day."

In the shower, with the scalding water raining down on him, Ten thinks back on the almost-kiss, remembering the feel of Jaehyun's breath whispering across his skin. How hard it had been to pull away. How the bruised expression on Jaehyun's face had reminded Ten of crushed berries.

.

"What's wrong with you?" Sicheng's brows dip as Ten spills water all over himself. Again. 

The studios have all been re-purposed into changing and makeup rooms in preparation for the performance tonight, and Sicheng sits in a chair in front of a vanity mirror as a makeup artist contours his face. He looks a little funny with the exaggerated shadows carving out the hollows of his cheeks up close, but Ten knows that from a distance, he'll look stunning. Ten sits slumped in the vanity seat next to him, looking washed out by the bright lights in the mirror.

"Nothing's wrong with me," Ten tries, but his fingers are uncoordinated and clumsy as he screws the cap back onto his water bottle and puts it back onto the table where all the makeup and brushes and poofs sit in little jars and pods. He looks down at his tank and pouts at the wet patches. At least he hadn't changed yet into his outfit for the first performance, so no one in the audience has to know he's making a mess of himself backstage.

"You've been jumpy all day," Sicheng continues, a little snappish because of his own nerves. "Please pull yourself together. Go meditate or something. We've got to be on stage in an hour."

Ten sighs. "I know. I'm fine. I'll be fine. I'm just a little nervous. I think."

"You better go get changed," the makeup artist says to Ten out of the corner of her mouth. She not-so-subtly eyes the water splotches down Ten's front. "Maybe lay off the water and snacks until after the show, too."

"Fine," Ten says, feeling properly chastised by the artist and his friend both. He hops off his chair and leaves Sicheng to his makeup, making his way out of the room and into another studio down the hall, where all the different outfit changes for the performers have been prepared. Some of the dance company, Ten included, are in multiple pieces for the evening, so quick costume changes are required. Ten locates his standing rack in one corner and pulls out his first outfit, which is for the whole group number. He's also doing the piece with Sicheng and one short solo. He examines the outfits for these performances as well, and hopes against all hope that he doesn't accidentally wipe off all his makeup on the beige pullover he's wearing for his piece with Sicheng when he has to change. Luckily, someone should be helping him with his outfit changes, so he should be fine.

Others are in the changing room as well. He spots Jun and Minghao already dressed and made up for the opening number sitting huddled in the corner watching something on Jun's phone together, listening through shared airpods. A volunteer in the corner -- Ten guesses the older woman is probably a parent of someone in the program -- manually moves the nozzle of a steamer over a shirt hanging on a rack, and the mist from the steamer condenses on the surface of the mirror beside her. When someone smacks a hand onto his shoulder with a quick, "Hi!" that sounds like a bark, Ten jumps and gasps, turning to glare at the offender.

"How do you move so quietly yet you're so huge?" Ten asks him as Lucas pulls him into a bear hug that squeezes the air from his lungs. Strangely, it makes the anxiety pulling at his heartstrings simmer down just a bit, so Ten's grateful for the affection. 

"I'm a graceful dancer," Lucas offers. "Are you ready for tonight? Whew, look at that outfit! That's barely a shirt!"

Ten glances where Lucas is looking at the rack and smirks. It's for his solo: a black crop top and gunmetal leggings. The piece is meant to be sensual and gritty and dark. He'll do the piece barefoot. "It's half a shirt," he says.

"Johnny's gonna love that, huh?" Lucas asks with a waggle to his brows.

Ten smacks him across the top of his bicep. "Shut up! Don't be dirty. It's art."

"There's nothing wrong with a bit of sensuality in art. Art can be sexy and sultry. It's evocative. That's all I meant," Lucas says, grinning knowingly.

Ten blushes and shoves at Lucas' chest gently, and the other stumbles back, more out of courtesy than anything else. Ten says, "I need to change. Don't watch me. Go bother someone else."

Lucas, of his boundless, happy energy, simply nods and skips off as suddenly as he came. "See you for the opening!" he calls behind his shoulder as he leaves the room.

Ten changes and thinks about how both Johnny and Jaehyun will be in the audience tonight, and a shiver races up his spine at the realization they'll both witness him at his most vulnerable. He goes back to the makeup room and sits in the chair Sicheng has vacated. He closes his eyes when the makeup artist paints foundation and creams and powders across his face. When he opens his eyes again, a new person stares back at him.

.

For all the fluttering in his tummy before the show begins, once the performance has started and the milling members of the audience have quieted and taken their seats, a calm washes over Ten like the smooth stroke of a brush. He peeks out from behind the curtains bracketing the stage at the sea of people facing it and recognizes no one. No one face stands out from the next, and once the lights go down, everything is shadows.

The stage is hot with light, the black matte surface of the floor like tar. The first whole-group performance goes off without a hitch, and Ten, riding the high of a successful number, giggles with Lucas and Yuta and Sicheng backstage as they change into their next outfits. A volunteer approaches to help Ten into his sweater and, like a toddler, he holds his arms above his head and his breath until his face pops past the the stretchy collar.

"Thank you," Ten says to the volunteer, who grins at him and moves on to the next dancer. 

Everything is hushed and reverent backstage, a bit holy. Performers sit in waiting, vibrating with energy, their faces painted masks and their clothes steamed to perfection. A group of young dancers specializing in pointe take the stage and capture the attention of everyone observing on the tiny monitor in the green room. Ten especially loves the doll-like movements of ballet, and the power it takes to come off so delicate and poised.

This rush is what he lives for. There is nothing in his mind but the dance, the stage, the awareness of his own body. He hugs the girls coming back from their performance even though he doesn't know them, because he's so happy at how well they did and they're so happy that it's over. Before he can blink twice, it's time for his and Sicheng's number.

"You ready?" Sicheng asks in the eaves, holding Ten's hand in his as the curtains fall and the stage manager gestures to them to rush to their starting positions before the curtains rise again.

"We'll blow them all away," Ten says.

.

It feels like their best performance yet. The applause goes on for so long that it rings in Ten's ears. He leaves the stage exhilarated, skipping, his fingers wrapped around Sicheng’s hand -- just like how they entered the stage -- while being slightly uncoordinated in his excitement like a foal finding its legs. It's okay; his solo isn't until near the end of the night, so he has some time to find his balance again.

Ten and Sicheng hold each other for a long time after, in the changing room, Ten's head tucked against Sicheng's shoulder. His heart pounds in his chest, in his ears. Sicheng says, "I'm so proud of us."

"Me too," Ten says, nuzzling his face into Sicheng's neck and getting foundation all over Sicheng's skin.

"Hey!"

"Sorry," Ten giggles. "Go get your makeup re-done, then."

Sicheng pulls back with a somber-sounding sigh, his eyes slightly hooded. "I hope I get to dance with you again, after this," Sicheng says.

Ten's heart skips up into his mouth. "Don't get sappy on me yet. We're not done!" 

"I know, I know," Sicheng mutters sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

"But I know what you mean. We make a good team."

"Yeah, we do."

Ten allows himself one more breath in this quiet space, this moment that feels like Ten's heart is connected to Sicheng's by a string. He squeezes Sicheng's hands and raises up onto his toes to kiss Sicheng on the cheek. Then he says, "Gotta change. See you on the other side?"

Sicheng nods and goes back to makeup. They have one more piece each.

.

Ten plays with the elastic band of his gunmetal leggings as the makeup artist puts the finishing touches on his face. He feels too exposed in the black crop top, the little hairs on his forearms prickling in the chill brought on by air conditioning. But that's kind of the point.

"All...done..." the artist announces, stepping away from Ten so that he can examine himself in the mirror.

She's set his eyes deep in shadow and smoke, a contrast to his lips painted a soft, babydoll pink. Unicorn tears drip down his cheeks, leaving fixed trails of glitter underneath his eyes.

"You look like a mess, but a pretty one," she says, shaking glitter from her brushes. 

"Thanks," Ten says shyly. He stands to examine himself more closely in the mirror. The glitter tears catch the light when he turns his face this way and that. He sits back down and blinks up at her with a smile that makes her blush. "You're incredible."

"Your concept," she says. "I just brought it to life."

In the mirror, Ten catches movement at the door. A familiar silhouette and set of shoulders. That smile. Air freezes in his lungs as Jaehyun spots him in his chair and Ten can do nothing but stare straight ahead at him in the mirror as he nears. He almost reaches out for the makeup artist as she moves away, as though to hold her before himself like a shield, a buffer between himself and whatever it is Jaehyun wants. But he doesn't, and Jaehyun is next to him in moments.

"You shouldn't be back here," Ten says, still resolutely staring straight ahead. He's afraid of looking at Jaehyun directly. Afraid of how his body will react.

"I know," Jaehyun says quietly. "But I came anyway. Yuta sneaked me in."  

"Why aren't you with him, then?"

"I wanted to see you. To see how you're doing. You've been -- you've been incredible so far," Jaehyun says.

Ten's fingers fly up to his mouth. He chews on his thumbnail as he feels himself shrink in the chair. "Jaehyun..."

"I just wanted to say sorry, again. I don't want to ruin things. I don't want to come between you and--"

"Shut up," Ten snaps, eyes flitting around to see who's watching, who's listening. He spots Jun in another one of the makeup chairs in front of a vanity toward the other end of the room, his gaze turned to them. Jaehyun seals his lips together and Ten huffs in frustration. He takes Jaehyun by the wrist and hops out of his seat, guiding them out of the room in quick steps. "Not here," he says.

Jaehyun follows him without protest. They find a tiny studio not being used for tonight, down the hall and around the corner with space enough for an upright piano and a bench and not much more. Ten closes the door behind them and whirls on Jaehyun. "What are you  _ doing _ ?"

Jaehyun's mouth opens and closes a couple of times without sound, like a fish out of water. Finally, he says, "I don't know."

Ten could just about pull his own hair out, winding his fingers into the roots. "I'm about to perform. I can't do this right now." 

"I know," Jaehyun sniffs. "I know. I'm sorry. This is really selfish of me? But when you were dancing up there, I kept thinking -- I kept thinking you're the most beautiful boy I've ever met. There's something about you that feels like home, like maybe I've known you forever. Or in another life, or something. And then I just kept thinking -- I just want you in my life. No matter what. And that I had to fix things with you. And that I'm sorry. I'm really sorry if I ruined anything between us. I'll do anything to make it up to you." 

It feels like someone has punched Ten in the stomach. He tries to draw in breath, winded and hurting, and his voice comes out tremulous and broken. "Jaehyun, if I cry right now, I'll ruin my makeup." 

"Don't cry," Jaehyun murmurs. He raises his hands slowly, slow enough for Ten to pull away, but Ten doesn't.

The feeling of home, Jaehyun said. Ten pictures an apartment in the middle of Seoul, overlooking the Han River. Plants hanging in tiny terrariums in front of the windows. A big bed with white sheets. Feels like home, even though Ten's never stepped foot in a place like that. He shudders when Jaehyun cups his face in his hands like he's a precious ornament.

"Don't cry, don't cry," Jaehyun murmurs still, so of course Ten cries. Not too loud or too wet or too hard. Just with that sharp feeling in his chest like a balloon has expanded inside of him with nowhere to go. Jaehyun dabs at the tears slowly trickling down Ten's cheeks with his thumbs so as to not ruin his makeup. "There, there," he coos. "Don't cry."

"I don't know how to do this," Ten says brokenly, thinking of Johnny and his soulmate he's going to meet tonight and feeling very sorry. Ten loves Johnny so much, but there's something here with Jaehyun also, something he's not sure he can let go of now that he's found it.

"I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Stop. Just stop." Ten wrenches himself out of Jaehyun's grasp and takes a step back, chest heaving with the balloon still inside of it. "I'll -- I'll find you after the show, okay? We'll talk then."

A sharp rapping of knuckles on the door almost makes them both jump out of their skins. Jun's face peers in through the narrow window in the door, and he points at Ten, mouthing the words,  _ you're up. _

"Shit," Ten curses, looking back and forth between them. Jun waves his hand, beckoning Ten to hurry up. "I--"

"Go," Jaehyun says. "Go, I'll see you after the show. I'll go back out into the audience right now."

So Ten leaves Jaehyun in the little studio room with the upright piano and strides to the stage. Beside him, Jun keeps pace and asks, "Who was that? Did you break up with Johnny?"

"No!" Ten almost shouts at him, and Jun trips over nothing and falls behind. "Sorry, sorry -- It's complicated--" 

Jun shakes off the surprise and waves Ten on again. "Just go. Everyone's waiting for you."

.

He stumbles onto the stage as the curtains are rising. The spotlight shines down on him, blinding him, searing into his retinas. He hits his starting mark and looks out over an audience that looks like the ocean at night. Just where the moon should touch against the horizon, he sees Johnny, rising above the rest. 

He blinks, and loses Johnny into the water. The music starts, and the stage lights grow hotter. Ten takes a deep breath and dives.

The piece is about being alone. It's about his own struggle to find connection, and purpose, and strength. It's about the boy in high school who dated him for a while only to crow about how easy Ten had been for him because all Zeroes were like that. It's about being told when he was still a child forming words that their family home would never truly be his, by a cousin who was visiting from Shanghai. It's about Kun, and being left behind.

And then, it's about hope. About throwing himself into his love for dance, and music, and art. About finding an advocate in his sister and, eventually, in himself. He's put everything of himself into this choreography, every hurt he's felt, every challenge he's overcome. He imagines he's in a room performing this just for the people who are most important to him in the world. 

He ends the piece with his fist in the air, the light glancing off his timer, his zeroes still glowing green like tiny beacons when the stage plunges into darkness.

He catches his breath. The applause roars in his ears and yet it sounds like nothing. He feels like someone has sucked the marrow from his bones; he could crash onto the floor right now and never get up again and be fine with it, but then the lights start to come up again, gray and dull, like fog or mist over a lake.

Ten runs.

.

When the fog clears, he's outside, wearing slip-ons and someone else's zip up hoodie that hangs off his shoulders, and he's on the steps leading up to the Lincoln Center. The three buildings surrounding the plaza with the fountain in the middle are all lit up golden in the night. He looks up from where he's sitting, on the very edge of a wide step, light spilling out from under his legs, and sees no stars in the inky sky. He hugs his arms and hunches over when a breeze blows over him, bringing an unexpected chill.

"Ten!" 

Ten looks behind his shoulder and sees Johnny jogging toward him. He waves at him. There are few others roaming the plaza. Tourists snap photos in front of the fountain, capturing the grand buildings behind it. Johnny reaches him flushed and panting.

"Why'd you run off like that?"

Ten shrugs and picks at imaginary lint on his leggings. He chews on his thumbnail. Johnny groans like an old man when he sits down next to him.

"You're going to miss curtain call," Johnny says quietly, knocking his shoulder into Ten's.

"I can't be in there after that."

"After what? Your solo? God, Ten. You were so amazing."

Maybe, Ten thinks. But then he'd also felt flayed raw after spilling his guts like that all over the stage, like a piece of tenderized meat. 

"I cried," Johnny says.

Ten looks at him sharply, and Johnny reaches over to swipe at Ten's wet cheeks with his thumb. Glitter coats the whirl of his thumbprint. "Did you?"

"It was so good, Ten. You're so good. You're incredible."

"I don't feel incredible," Ten whispers.

"Why?" Johnny asks, ever so gentle. He threads his arm across the back of Ten's shoulders and pulls him in close, and Ten's head falls to his chest because he doesn't have the energy to hold it up anymore. "This is your night."

"It's yours, too," Ten says, referring to Johnny's timer. He doesn't dare look at the numbers counting down on Johnny's wrist, so he lifts his eyes instead to meet Johnny's and darts forward to place a kiss on his bow-like lips. Electricity fizzles between them. Johnny holds Ten's cheek in his palm and kisses him back, smearing babydoll pink past the corners, down his chin. "Remember how we said we'd always figure things out, big or small?" Ten asks in a small voice.

"Of course." Johnny pulls back, rubbing his thumb over the pink stains across Ten's skin to swipe them away but just ending up smearing glitter all over his face instead.

Ten takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I have to tell you something."

Johnny pushes his bottom lip out in mild concern and pauses in trying to clean Ten's face of glitter. "Okay...?" he prompts cautiously.

Ten thinks back on this whole miracle of a summer. Exploring the city with Johnny, eating with Johnny, laughing and crying with Johnny. Growing with Johnny. He has never loved anyone the way he loves Johnny. When he had imagined himself performing his solo in a room with the people who are most important to him, Johnny came to mind. Then Tern and Sicheng. Then, though he's only known him for a short time, Jaehyun. If he doesn't tell Johnny about Jaehyun it will fester inside of him like poison in his blood.

"I have to tell you about Jaehyun."

Johnny's eyes narrow. "What about Jaehyun? Has he done something to you?"

"No," Ten says quickly, shaking his head. "No, no. It's -- it's not that. It's not that at all. Jaehyun is -- he's sweet and a little shy. And smart. But he doesn't look down on anyone. And he's gentle. He reminds me a little of you."

Confusion flits across Johnny's expression. "Of me?"

"Yeah." Ten nods, hoping that Johnny will understand without him having to spell it out, but of course he doesn't, and Ten's heart falters inside of his chest.

"What are you saying, Ten?" The confusion on his face slowly shifts into dread and, with it, misery. Johnny pulls back with his eyes as deep and dark as the inside of a well, and Ten rushes forward to clutch at his shoulders, keeping him close. Johnny's misunderstood.

"It's not what you think," Ten says, eyes burning. "Please, Johnny. Listen to me, okay? I love you so much. I love you so, so much. I'm in so much fucking love with you. But Jaehyun. I think -- I think I _like_ him, too."

The silence is thick and viscous. Johnny's mouth opens and closes a couple of times, just like Jaehyun's did before, just like a fish out of water.

“Say something?” Ten begs. He cups Johnny’s face in his hands. He presses a kiss to Johnny’s lips desperately.

A laugh blows past Johnny's lips, hoarse and crackling like static. "I thought you were breaking up with me."

Ten falls against Johnny with a shudder, with a sigh of relief, knocking their foreheads together. "I could never do that. You're a part of me forever."

“Yeah. You’re a part of me forever, too,” Johnny murmurs. Behind them, the fountain spits water into the air in towers. “So, now what?”

“I don’t know,” Ten admits. “I kind of hoped you’d have an answer.”

“I never have any answers. I go by my gut all the time. You know that.” Johnny laughs softly against Ten’s mouth and kisses him, and Ten listens to the water fall back down to the earth like rain. 

“One of the many reasons why I love you,” Ten sighs.

“For real, though.” Johnny looks Ten straight in the eyes and locks their gazes. “Now I  _ really  _ have to meet him, this Jaehyun. If you like him...like that.”

Ten nods, so utterly grateful for the grace Johnny is showing him, the straightforward acceptance. Things have always been like this with Johnny, Ten realizes, and maybe they always will be -- easy and effortless, as simple as putting one foot in front of the other, as simple as breathing. Even the hard parts, looking back on them now, don't seem so bad. “You’ll meet him,” Ten promises, palms folded around the sharp edge of Johnny’s jaw. “He’s probably already--”

“Ten?” Not Johnny’s voice. A shadow blocking the golden light. Ten looks up and sees: heat waves coming off the red clay tennis courts, light flashing off a white panel as a photographer beckons his model closer, pink cherry blossoms floating on the surface of a blue, blue lake. He gasps like he’s been pulled up from that water. Jaehyun stands a short distance away with his hands in his pockets, digging the toe of his shoe into the concrete. 

“--coming,” Ten finishes in a whisper, because there’s barely any air in his lungs. He’s not sure what he’s just seen, or why, or when. He stands, too, dragging Johnny up to his feet with him.

Johnny turns. 

His timer goes off.

So, too, does Jaehyun’s.

For half a second, their timers chime a slightly syncopated beat like they’re playing off of each other, and for half a second, Ten’s heart falls down to his knees as the two other boys watch each other, take each other in.

Then, abruptly, everything goes dark and silent, like a candle being blown out. The wind picks up speed between the buildings, howling, and nearly rips the hoodie off Ten’s shoulders. He reaches out for Johnny’s hand and squeezes it, frozen with fear. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he makes out Jaehyun coming cautiously closer. He looks up at the sky, at the stars winking back at him in the absence of light pollution. Something inside of him clicks.

It only lasts for three seconds. Ten counts them. The electricity and the city come back alive with an audible whoosh and hum of energy. The golden glare of light illuminating Lincoln Center shines almost too bright before dimming back to ordinary levels, and the fear melts away with the release of his breath.

His eyes were closed. He opens them again to Jaehyun’s hand in his right and Johnny’s hand in his left. He looks down at where they’re linked and doesn’t realize why it looks so strange until Jaehyun points it out.

“My timer,” Jaehyun says in a hushed voice. Ten drops his gaze to where Jaehyun’s eyes are focused.

The silver band around his wrist is still intact, still whole, but shockingly, the face of his timer is blank. No numbers run across its surface. Ten looks at Johnny’s and finds it to be the same. He looks at his own. 

Blank. Empty. Unwritten.

Johnny opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out the first time. Patient, Ten brushes his thumb over the back of Johnny's hand to encourage him. Johnny swallows and finds his voice again. "What does it mean?" he asks.

Ten thought maybe he’d feel unmoored without the numbers flashing back at him, like a kite battling a storm. Instead, he thinks back on the summer and about Johnny and Jaehyun and the way they both make his heart swell, and a feeling Ten has never felt before rushes through his veins: euphoria, unsteady and new, but blooming all the same. It’s like there is a pillar connecting him to the center of the earth. He doesn’t need those numbers. He only needs himself.

Johnny and Jaehyun look to him with matching expressions of uncertainty on their faces, and Ten squeezes both of their hands, drawing them both to him with a smile forming on his lips that comes from the very deepest part of him. 

"It means whatever we want it to mean," Ten says. “Johnny, meet your potential roommate tomorrow, okay? The three of us -- we should talk.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who offered support and love along the way! really couldn't have done it without you <3

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading~ comments and kudos are appreciated! <3
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/andnowforyaya) | [my cc](http://curiouscat.me/andnowforyaya)


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